Tuesday, September 4, 2007
My son started high school this week.
No more macaroni-glued Father's Day gifts from him.
It's worse than seeing him go off to kindergarten because I know he will only get corrupted by the vile teenagers he will encounter. He is quite a writer, though. I remember when I was in high school and I told my parents that I wanted to be a writer. It was over dinner (we actually used to eat together in those days, and moms didn't work), and both of my parents spit out what they were eating and said, "But what do you want to do for your real job?"
So I wrote in secret. Until my dearest friend Kel told me to get my shit together.
My son always said he wanted to be a writer. And I never said anything to him about it.
Then when I was offered representation from my most amazing and gifted agent he told me, "Thank you, Dad, for being a role-model to me."
I'm not making that up. It was the best thing I've ever heard in my life. And my kid actually said it to me.
I was never happy with the writing techniques he learned in school. They always put up with the lamest crap from their students, but I shut up about it. But I have been reading the stuff he's been doing in his English Honors class at high school, and I'm thinking this kid's really getting it. He reads constantly; more than I have time for. And he's going to be a hell of a writer one day.
Some dads get thrills over their sons pitching balls or making touchdowns. That's all great stuff, because I love sports too. My dad would have probably been happy if I became an engineer like he was, but that wasn't for me. Yeah, I'm a dad who writes. And I probably wouldn't have gotten back into it after writing copy for newspapers and radio stations if it weren't for all those nights I'd lay by my son and make up stories for him to put him to sleep... and then him saying thank you for being the dream that he has.
Do good in school, son.
I love you.