[ He's quiet. The sun beats down on him, but Clark has never felt its oppressive heat. For him, the sun was his strength, his power.

Be their monument. Be their angel, his mother had said, Or be none of it. You don't owe the world a damn thing.

But he did. Clark owed the world. He owed them for giving him his quiet birthdays on the farm. His prize at the Science Fair. His father's love as he held Clark close and said, you are my son. ]

Because I am human.

I'm human when I go to work on my bicycle. Or when I bring flowers to my girlfriend. I'm human when I call my mother in the night, looking for answers.

I'm human because I am part of their experience. And they're part of mine. They may not want to share that world with me, but I can share mine with them.

You . . . and people like you are my world.