My mother and I are more than best friends; we are partners in crime. After she and my father, Quincy Jones, separated when I was 10 years old, my sister, Kidada, who was 12, went to live with our dad, and I stayed with my mother.
After my mother and father separated when I was 5, my mother moved to Washington, D.C., and my father remained in North Carolina. Later, I moved to New York and would often drive down to D.C. to see her. We'd ride around together talking and listening to music.
I was six months old at the time that I was taken, with my mother and father, from Sacramento, California, and placed in internment camps in the United States.
I lived in New York until I was eleven years old, when my mother left my two older sisters and my father. My mother is 90 percent blind and deaf. She left and moved all the way to California. So I left my two older sisters and my father behind at the age of eleven and moved cross-country to take care of her.
The unhappiest memories are of losing my mother when I was 14. Alter six months, my father remarried. The thought that somebody was taking the place of my mother was unacceptable. It is sad because, after that, my father also changed.
I remember sitting there on my father's couch or my mother's couch, listening to this lecture about how there were two groups and we had to be separated. We've come a long way from this kind of open racism. And I think it's wonderful.
Well, I was about six or seven, and my mother and father separated.
Even though my parents separated, my mother was in love with my father and never re-married.
My parents are separated. My father left when I was six years old.
My mother and father were farmers from very humble means, and when I was three years old they moved from the roca to the city to try to give us a better life. My father took a job at a winery and my mother worked as a seamstress.
Usually, you can live very well for two, three months, then you're in trouble. Every coach, I think, is like this. For two months, you're happy because you have time, and after two months, you miss adrenaline.
Babe Ruth didn't become her father until 18 months after he married her mother, Claire, on April 17, 1929, Opening Day of the baseball season. Julia was 12 years old.
I went to elementary school in L.A. I was born in L.A. My mother was from Redondo Beach. My father was French. He died six months before I was born, so my mother went home. I was born there. Not the childhood that most people think. Middle-class, raised by my mother. Single mom.
In my life, I just have my mother. I don't have a father. When I was just two years old, he passed away.
I was six months pregnant when my brother died and my daughter was four-months-old when my mother expired. Gradually, I developed an inner resilience as today I believe there is a rainbow at the end of each storm.