Just doing a spot of shopping for my nephew’s third birthday party tomorrow. Ended up buying a K-2SO for myself, because that guy rules.
Had a funny thought just as I was going to sleep last night.
My lanttumies, Vuta, has been reading The Final Fall of Man. Given that he’s not a big reader, and it’s a series of books in a third language for him, and they’re very challengingly-written books, I really should give him more props for that. Big respect, Vuta. Big respect.
But what occurred to me as amusing was that, on a few occasions, he has berated me for possibly-intentionally writing bigger, fancier words than I needed to, as though I’m all wrapped up in how smart and educated I am, and how I can use complicated words and so on. He said he’d struggled with the urge to give up reading the series (Eejit was the main offender, I started out with some hard writing), even to throw the book across the room.
At first I was a bit stung by this, but then I realised … he’s right. I am proud of myself, my writing ability, my textual intellect. It’s what I do. It’s my gift.
It’s as nonsensical to criticise me for that as it is for me to criticise Vuta for being proud of his military, martial arts and weapons background. Every time he posts something on Facebook about soldiers kicking arse and taking names, I need to check myself. I need to remind myself that my mild eye-rolling response to his passion is exactly the same as his response to mine.
I’m not saying I’m about to start learning martial arts or shooting bows. But I’m going to give him more of a chance when he geeks out – or whatever the army-man equivalent is … I want to say jocks out? – over the passions in his life.
Thanks, Vuta. Never change.