The time our Miller family spent in our Woodlawn house was too brief, though we were there for ten years. The five of us had enormous, even embarrassing, love for one another. We had our own language adapted from listening to my father’s way of talking about life. A person didn’t fall if he lost his equilibrium; Daddy said, He took a dive.” Words like “large” or “huge “didn’t exist, only Daddy-words, “giant” or “gigantic.” People didn’t die; they “kissed off.” We didn’t make a mistake; we “blew it!” I was raised in a family of gigantic exaggeration.
— Raking Leaves in the Wind/Chapter 5 – Woodlawn Avenue