From Scott...
MY PARENTS WERE FROM THE BAY AREA. My dad was a surfer and a rock 'n' roll guy—you know, hot rods and slicked-back hair; he drove a '58 Impala. Later he fell in love with the Stones and the Beatles and became more of a longhair. I remember going out to visit him every summer. The first thing I'd do was raid his weed stash. My mom was the cheerleader in the poodle skirt. She was a lifeguard; they surfed Santa Cruz together. They were intensely in love and got married at a young age. I don't want to open up their whole can of worms, but certain things happened. I was born in '67; the whole sixties thing was really going strong. I think my dad was a bit of a flake back then. He wanted to have a good time, you know, tune in and turn on, whatever they used to say back then. My mom was just not down with it. They ended up getting a divorce. It crushed me. I was three years old.
My stepfather was the complete opposite of my dad. He was a corporate guy at TRW. He'd played football at Notre Dame and then got his master's degree at USC in aeronautical engineering. His favorite group was the Kingston Trio. If I were to sum up my stepfather in one word, the word would be responsible . That word was always coming out of his mouth: "You have to be responsible, Scott." "Scott, you have to be responsible." Responsible, responsible, responsible. And he was responsible. I think that's what attracted my mom to him in the first place.
He wasn't adopted...
