Our first child, Bretha, was born in that truck, on the eve of our first appearance on Letterman. We had to miss Letterman as my bride needed a short stay in the hospital. Seems she had needed an episiotommy or something like that.

Our third child, Mooma, was born two weeks before the Grammys where we earned a statuette for New Artists of the Year. Which was weird because Bretha was eight and Sender was five.

One of the songs from our fourth album was covered by another band, and it went on to become a major part of a soundtrack for an animated film. The royalties from that song alone paid for a house and a couple of vehicles and put Bretha through college.

My bride died before our greatest hits album hit the stores. She had a preciously undignosed rare ailment that came from her mother's having run a pet grooming business when she was pregnant.

Bretha learned to sing her mother's songs, albeit with a different band and went on to a career as a choreographer and cinematographer and webmaster. She made her first million two years out of college.

Sender never listened to any of our music. He told his school friends we were lawyers for the mob. When he was seventeen, he moved in with his aunts, who lived in an energy cooperative in Cupertino, and never looked back. He became a luthier and a cooper to a select clientele of vintners who collected guitars. He made his first million before he was twenty.

Mooma married a movie star at the age of nineteen and started a Feng Shui real estate firm and development research facility that only hired the handicapable. She made her first million within a year and the prenup was a matter of great laughter in her household as her hubby made a movie with Mariah Carey and it tanked his career. He ended up being a supporting player on a WB teen drama. Mooma's second child, Tritina, became a child model and made her first million before she was eight.

I remarried to a woman years younger than I who was tone deaf and really had no idea who I was outside of the guy who owned the local pet store. We had no children, but our pets were enough. I put away my guitars and sold our catalogue to Bretha.

Last week I found out I was adopted. The wedding singer who died was my biological father. I haven't met my biological mother yet.

It turns out my parents were originally moles for the Russians who were supposed to wait for some event that never happened and they adopted me and my sisters for cover. What was supposed to happen to us kids if the event ever happened, I still haven't learned. They are in jail awaiting an immigration service hearing. Apparently my father's thirty years of work as a lay minister with the African Methodist Episcopal church counts for something. And my mother's efforts with the Esperanto HeadStart movement...