TIGGER THE CRITIC
It was just me and my eight-year-old today. We did what any mother-daughter duo would
do—packed up our respective laptops and went to the coffee shop. Tigger had a history report to write, and I
needed to pound out an entry for an essay contest, per this week’s goals.
We chose a large table and sat across from each other,
sipping our drinks from paper cups and tapping on our keyboards. After 20 minutes, Tigger said she needed a
break. I sent her to the bookstore
attached to the coffee shop and continued working.
In short order, Tigger came running back clutching a book
(the one above) that she absolutely, positively, had to have. “Will you buy it for me pleeeeeease?”
“If you finish a first draft of your report before we leave
here, I’ll buy the book for you.”
With renewed interest, she sat down and wrote, occasionally
stopping to check her reference books. I
pulled out my best dry humor to make the anecdote I was writing amusing yet
true-to-life. We finished at the same
time and exchanged computers.
“Read that and tell me if it’s funny,” I said.
I examined Tigger’s report and noted a few missing
elements. I gave her suggestions for
improvement, along with lots of praise for being detailed and organized.
I gestured at my computer.
“What do you think, is it funny?”
Tigger looked uncomfortable.
“Well, I don’t get it.”
“You don’t get what?”
“What’s supposed to be funny about it?”
I guess my first draft needs some work, too.
EDIT: What the heck happened to my quotes and apostrophes? Xanga Gods are capricious, to say the least.