I guess, it did not matter that we were the outcasts of the neighborhood, after all.
As I watched others lives fall apart, we all still had each other, no matter how many times people thought Mother was crazy for planting the garden by the cycles of the moon, or how Dad would allow us to put curlers in his hair, right before going to the grocery store, wearing them proudly.
The normal people, who looked down upon us, seemed to care more about our behaviour than their own lives. Divorce, arrests and suicides left us – unlike them – untouched.
But instead of returning their treatment with the same, my weird, flower-in-her-hair Mother, would bring them a smile and chocolate cake.