This Roberto. He No Like The Light.

It Was Sometimes Difficult To Reconcile A Man's Talents With His Personality.

It's Christmas! Ah, Christmas, The Time When All Good People Go About Not Decapitating Each Other.

It Was Watching Madeline Alby Eat Cheese With Every Ounce Of Her Being, Like It Was The First And Best Time, That Made Him Realize That He Had Never Really Tasted Cheese, Or Crackers, Or Life. And He Didn't Want His Daughter To Live That Way. He'd Moved Her Into Her Own Room The Night Before...he Hadn't Slept Well, And Had Gotten Up Five Times During The Night To Check On Her, Only To Find Her Sleeping Peacefully, But He Could Lose A Little Sleep If Sophie Could Go Through Life Without His Fears And Limitations. He Wanted Her To Experience All The Glorious Cheese Of Life.

For A While He'd Tried Molding Himself Into The Tragic Romantic Hero, Brooding And Staring Clench-jawed Off Into Space As He Composed Dark Verse In His Head. But It Turned Out That Trying To Appear Tragic In Incontinence, Indiana, Was Redundant, And His Mother Kept Shouting At Him And Making Him Forget His Rhymes. "tommy, If You Keep Grinding Your Teeth Like That, They'll Wear Away And You'll Have To Have Dentures Like Aunt Ester." Tommy Only Wished His Beard Was As Heavy As Aunt Ester's---then He Could Stare Out Over The Moors While He Stroked It Pensively.

After All The Evidence Is In--after You've Run All The Facts By Everything You Know--and You're Still Lost, You Have To Do Some Things On Faith.