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My dad left when I was two. The earliest and only memory I have of my mom and him together is of my older brother and sister shrugging off a verbal argument they were having outside. The memory is convoluted with the concept of yogurt, and perhaps I'll never know why. Not to start out each blog as a free associative autobiography, or anything. There actually was a high level of functionality between my parents, fit for a fourteen paragraph blog of its own. It might have gone on to fill its own e-book, but my mother has recently passed on. There was a scene near the very end that seemed to go beyond functioning beyond divorce. Of course, I was young when they were divorced,