I do love having parents I can brag to. Their enthusiasm for my every achievement, great or small, is infallible. It’s so nice to have some things in life that are completely reliable. So of course when Mum came by yesterday I showed her the beautiful anthology Noah Wardrip-Fruin and Pat Harrigan edited, which has my article in it!
“Look, Mum, look! I’ve never had hard covers around my writing before! There’s even a dust cover!”
“Oh, the dust cover is particularly impressive, honey. Anyone can have hard covers, but a dust cover shows true professionality.”
“Doesn’t it look wonderful!”
“And to think I taught you to read!”
This morning I read bits of First Person while my daughter read Only a Show. I bask in pride at my daughter’s accomplishments. It was me who brought her to the world and look, already she can read!
I’m proud of my essay about Online Caroline too. It will never learn to read, but already it’s between hard covers, and you know, though it won’t give me grandchildren people might cite it. If you haven’t got your hands on a copy of First Person yet you can read my article anyway. It’s right here.
4 thoughts on “pride”
This is so weird… A few weeks ago, I was looking at your chapter and noticed my name in your response to your readers. And I felt just as proud as you – also because my name was mentioned in a book with hard covers. We’re immortal~! Thanks to you:-)
And why is this weird? Because just now, when I visited your page, I was looking for your Online Caroline – to reference it… and you wrote about it in your most recent post!
I noticed that the way I’ve mentioned you and Lisbeth there is wrong, you know. I wrote something like “in a conversation with Elin and Lisbeth we agreed that” when in fact you two had already discussed it, you told me your idea and I agreed. Sorry about that.
– matters nothing at all!
It is a great book, by the way. I just sent it off to be reviewed for Tekka:-)
Jill mentions First Person in a post today, and paints a tri-generational image: showing the book to her mother, then reading it while her daughter reads a book to herself. There’s no generation after mine in my (immediate) family ó and neither my brot…