(Two serious posts already this week! Who's up for some Friday blog candy?)
The first time my kids saw our family photo on the back of Parenting Beyond Belief
in a bookstore, they were elated. “We’re famous!” Erin squealed.
"Yes," Laney replied, “but the quiet
kind of famous.”
She had once said she wanted to be “one of those famous people on the magazine covers.” Becca replied that it might be fun in some ways, but you also lose your privacy, and everyone watches and talks about everything you do. "I still think that would be fun," Laney insisted.
So we began narrating her every move: "She's picking up her spoon. Why is she holding her hand that way? Ooh, she glared at our cameraman. What does she have to be angry about? Do you think Delaney McGowan is losing her mind? Take our online poll!"
“Aaahhh, okay okay okay!!
I don’t want to be that
kind of famous," she said. "I want to do something famous, but nobody knows I’m the person who did it.” She searched for the right word. “I want to be the quiet
kind of famous.”
My first brush with the quiet kind of famous was in 1977. It was a thrilling year for me. I turned fourteen. I kissed Kathy Myerson on the lips.
And I got myself published.
It was a single sentence, but it was published in a no-kidding book that was carried in all the best cheesy paperback bookracks in every checkout line in America. The title was Murphy’s Law Book 2: more reasons why things go wrong,
and the word “wrong” -- high-larious!
-- was upside down. Get it??
I’d read the prequel a year earlier, Murphy’s Law—and Other Reasons Things Go Wrong!,
stem to stern a dozen times. I loved it:
Parkinson's Law Work expands to fill the time available for its completion.
The Law of Margarine Attraction The odds of a piece of buttered bread landing butter-side down are directly proportional to the cost of the carpet.
Boob’s Law You always find something in the last place you look.
I can just hear my zitty little self snickering: “Heh heh. Boobs."
(Read the full post at The Meming of Life