The Kid

Today a casual acquaintance commented on my blog from yesterday, pointing out first that my style of placing sentences one only occasionally following another was "artsy."

Not knowing that he had already garnered umbrage, he then postulated the theory that, since her Mother and I are both ... unique, our daughter must most certainly take after (shall we say) more normal (and obviously) distant members of our families.

It is with a degree of righteous indigestion that I must point out that this individual does not know me at all; he does not know my wife, the kid, certainly nothing of our family relationships, nor any true appreciation of what is perceived by us as "normal."

And so, with only a token amount of heavy breathing, I will do somewhat to set the record straight.

In regard to the writing "style" of the last blog, I'm sorry to disappoint you. I wrote in the correct form - that is to say in a manner acceptable to most schools where grammatically flatulent sentence structure is encouraged. When I hit "Publish," the blogger mucked it up. I didn't look at it until today, and I wouldn't change it now unless someone gave me cookies.

In regard to Art, my wife is the true artist, and I'm an acceptable craftsman. Together if we can imagine something, we can build it. M y philosophy has always been, "if it's not fun, don't do it." This does not make me a libertine. Rather, my mindset is on the sweet moments in life, rather than the sour. Further, as you know, I write and direct plays. Convincing actors to do things utterly humiliating is always a great reliever of stress.

In regard to daughter, she has been one of the abiding loves of my life for years, and I can honestly say she's one of my best friends.

If  I might take credit for anything, it would be in encouraging her to be whatever she wants to be.

And "normal"? OF COURSE she's normal. If you ran into her on the street, you'd hardly notice anything out of the ordinary.

Okay, the beard, maybe. And the sword. But other than THAT ...

j