I was born into a middle class, Jewish American family, which would have made me a “princess” except that my father was a florist, not a doctor. We celebrated almost all the traditional Jewish holidays in a superficial way. While I was taught there was a God, I never really knew him.
When I was eight years old I was bitten on my face by a German Shepherd. This changed my life forever. We had just moved to a new neighborhood when the accident took place. There had been no chance for me to make friends.
It took one hundred stitches to close the wound. When I returned to school my classmates gave me a new name. They called me “Scarface”. From then until I turned twenty-seven I allowed that name to mold me and make me what I was.