A number of months ago, I despaired of my daughter ever understanding my love of writing--much less following in my footsteps along the writing road.
Sure, Christa loves to read. She even pens the occasional 9-year-old novel, complete with heroes and heroines, conflicts and happily-ever-afters. But the one time I tried to talk to her about the magical world of magazine editing, her eyes glazed over. A few minutes later, she wandered over to where her dad sat reading a medical publication. "Oooh, cool pictures, Dad! What is that?!"
Oh, well. Maybe her future is in medicine.
I'm learning, though, that you never know what's taking root in our children. The other day I was working on an article. Christa came into my office and leaned against my shoulder. I didn't realize she was also reading over my shoulder until she said, "I think there's a typo there, Mom. You might want to check that."
What? My daughter was editing me?!
Yep. And she was right--my writing needed to be corrected.
I confess I battled feelings of chagrin and pride. Edited by my 9-year-old. How embarrassing. And then I thought, I must be doing something right if my daughter knew enough to catch a writing mistake. I decided to savor the moment, rather than cringe.
I realize this doesn't mean Christa will love cutting sentences down to size like I do. She may grow up to be a dolphin trainer or a ballerina or doctor like her dad. So be it. I can be confident she'll be a capable writer too--in whatever capacity she chooses.