I finally finished Lowe's second memoir over the weekend. I'd been hauling it around with me for weeks unable to plow through the final few chapters, which I ultimately found to be the most enjoyable and rewarding of all. It struck me as rather fitting that I finished the book while waiting for Lily's acting class to wrap. I dog eared several of those last pages, laughed out loud in a quiet sitting area beside total strangers, and also wiped away a tear or two. In his closing chapters, Rob Lowe humbly bares his soul. I find him most likable when he is waxing poetic on marriage and parenthood and the inevitable passage of time because those are the common threads between his very public life and my private one. The memoir is composed of his stories, little nuggets from his past, that all support the importance of living our lives like we love them. And who am I to argue with that?