This month . . . .

“Winter Blues”
     My daughter spends an inordinate amount of time thumbing her smartphone. Wait, that’s not completely fair — I have no real way of measuring if the time she spends is inordinate. No stake in the ground, so to speak. Does she get her homework done? Does she have sound hygiene? Is she eating regularly, getting exercise? All yes. Does it bug me that she could be singing, painting, writing, doing something I consider creative, working the craft, getting the ten-thousand hours, but instead she looks at the ephemera on the periphery of the talent-universe? Some.

     Why does it bug me? Because her circus is no longer my circus. She’s old enough (and has enough information in her skull) to make her own free-time decisions. I can’t haunt her like a portrait of Leopold — silently scolding my progeny-prodigy. I can only hope that if the lessons aren’t hardwired, at least they are soldered in well enough.

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