Our friend John in Salt Lake thinks to have identified galactic debris as the forensic reason for why I am how I am.
True enough, those grapefruit-sized things were everywhere in my hometown. Our lawn looked like a bocce court. It made autumnal leaf raking impossible.
One crashed into the kitchen and splashed down in the large pot in which my mother was always boiling spinach for me and my brothers. (No lightly wilted leaves for her. She'd boil a mess of it right out of the can until it had lost all color, and then serve it doused with white vinegar.) "Leave it in! Leave it in!" we screamed.