My parents have asked me not to use their names in my posts. I will respect their wishes, though the two of them did make for the most entertaining stories. Of course when I wrote, “my mother” or “my father”, I was referring to the entity of mothers and fathers and not specific ones (ie. Stan and Linda). I assured them that my readers are brilliant human beings who have a keen sense of translation and can determine when my posts are fiction and when “mother” just means, “a woman of a certain age”.
Don’t get me wrong: my parents are, for the most part, very supportive of my writing. However, they do not appreciate it when I use them as fodder for my comedic musings. My mother thinks that my readers may not be able to distinguish between my fiction and non-fiction work. So when I post a short story about my “mother and father’s” divorce, my audience may assume that it is non-fiction and that Stan and Linda are calling it quits after 40 years. Then again, there was a phone call from my Auntie Dar asking how I was coping with it all.
My parents tell me that they read my blog everyday. My father, who is not computer savvy, will have my mother “upload” the page so he can read it online. They will phone me on occasion to tell me how much they enjoyed my blog, or to share their disappointment if I use a curse word (which I do, on rare occasion). My mother will hand the phone to my father, who proves his having read my post by quoting it verbatim.
The other night my father told me I was “prolific” (his word, not mine). He said my posts reminded him of O’Henry’s short stories. He told me I really should publish them in book form, as if I had the choice. I felt a tear form in the corner of my eye, and I felt all at once appreciated and loved.
My parents are proud of my very few achievements. I managed to hitch myself to a wonderful man, who will occasionally take their side in family disagreements. I have a Bachelor of Fine Arts from the University of British Columbia, well known and reputable institution. And best of all, I have a web log, or “blog” (though I do hate to call it that).
I’m not exactly sure if my parents know that anyone can start and maintain a blog. That it costs nothing, and that it is read by literally tens of people each day. I haven’t corrected them in their assumption that because my blog is available on the world wide web and millions of people have access to my blog, that millions of people are actually not reading my blog. They likely have better things to do.
But my parents don’t, and I appreciate that.