I've seen my mother struggling, everything that she did to raise me and my brothers and my sisters, and I know the anger that she went through.

I found out everyone was OK, ... And I heard from all my brothers and sisters, and my mother, and everyone is fine.

First, the baby loves mother's milk; second, he learns of his mother and father; third, his brothers, sisters and aunts; fourth, the love of play awakens. Fifth, he runs after food and drink; sixth, in his sexual desire, he does not respect social customs. Seventh, he gathers wealth and dwells in his house; eighth, he becomes angry, and his body is consumed. Ninth, he turns grey, and his breathing becomes labored; tenth, he is cremated, and turns to ashes. His companions send him off, crying out and lamenting. The swan of the soul takes flight, and asks which way to go.

My mom is probably the only person shorter than me that I'm scared of. Still to this day. She's, like, five-two, maybe.

Nobody really doubted me playing football, making it to the NFL. I was like, 'I know I can do that.'

I was my mother's favorite, and she'd help me with everything.