The Todd Glass Situation by Todd Glass

have an old sweater of my dad’s. Even if it doesn’t smell like him anymore, I still have a good cry every time I pull it out. But I can’t help but wonder what our relationship could have been. I think he would have loved the comedy. Given how accepting he’d always been—toward his family, his friends, and his employees—I really think that he would have been okay with me being gay. Circle this cliché in red: Soak in the people you love while they’re still here.
    After the memorial service, my sister-in-law Meryl approached me with a look that managed to be both concerned and adorable. “Is it okay to say happy birthday?” she asked. Obviously my twenty-third birthday didn’t seem that important on this particular day. But I appreciated the gesture and gave her a big hug.
    As I’m writing this book, it’s forced me to recognize some of the times that might otherwise have drifted past, times when people have acted kindly toward me in ways that were completely unexpected. A few days later, I got a phone call. “Todd, this is Randy Jones . . . Caroline’s dad?”
    â€œSure, I remember,” I said. “How are you?”
    â€œActually, I’m a little upset. I told you that you could come stay with us in L.A. What’s the matter, our house isn’t good enough for you?
    I felt a sudden burst of excitement. If he’s calling me on the phone, he must really mean it! I still didn’t have any money, but now I knew I had a friendly place to stay. My fears about Los Angeles all but disappeared. I was finally ready to make my move.

CHAPTER 21
THE COMEDY STORE
Los Angeles!
    For most twenty-three-year-olds with a car, a cross-country move means one thing: road trip!
    Only I wasn’t most twenty-three-year-olds. Driving long distance would require reading road signs, following directions, and, most of all, using maps. As you can probably guess by now, I was incapable of doing any of that, especially the part with the maps.
    I remember the first time a history teacher pulled down a map of the United States. Just looking at it made me dizzy—all those lines and names! How could anyone in their right mind ever learn all that? It’s still hard to admit some of this stuff sometimes, like when someone gives me directions: “Just get off the freeway and head south.”
    â€œIs that a right or a left?”
    â€œI’m not sure . . . It’s south.”
    â€œI don’t carry a fucking compass with me! Right or left?”
    It can get really bad at hotels, where desk clerks love to draw directions on their stupid little maps. I panic as soon as I see them reaching under the desk. No no no! Please don’t draw me a map! Just tell me the first two steps and, when I get there, I’ll ask someone else how to go the rest of the way.
    So a road trip was out of the question. Fortunately, my brother Corey volunteered to drive my car across the country with all of my stuff in it. I went to the airport with Harrison, Mick, and Katy. It was bittersweet—for the last few years I’d spent a lot of days and nights with these people—but when I looked at Katy, I felt guilty. There was so much I wish I could have explained to her.
    A few hours later I landed in Burbank, California. I felt like I was exiting the plane into a giant indoor swimming pool where the temperature was a perfectly maintained seventy-two degrees.
    This is where I’m going to live.
    I took a cab to Steve Young’s house, where I crashed for a couple of nights until Corey arrived with my Jeep. (God, do I miss the days when I could fit everything I owned into a Jeep.) Then it was off to the Joneses.
    I was scared to drive in California. I’d grown up watching CHiPs —the classic show about how L.A. needed its own special cops just to deal with the highways—and I felt like I was stepping into the insane world I’d seen