Thanks for turning me from a thought to a person, your first sugar and spice and everything nice and your third duckling to trail after you.
Thanks for giving me crayons to grip and coloring books to fill and laughter and art.
Thanks for taking my hand and leading me into the library, and thanks for letting me get a library card on which I capitalized the wrong letter.
Thanks for never saying, “We already have books at home,” and going past the library’s limit of seventy-five books out at time.
Thanks for reading to me every night befored bed until I was ten, making me appreciate old books too and the cadence of words, the cadence of a story.
Thanks for backing off and trusting me to do well in school, assuming that my homework’s done and tomorrow’s test will bring another A.
Thanks for teaching me to laugh at things that aren’t funny and to laugh at things that are funny. Thanks for turning me into the kind of person who doesn’t turn everything into something inappropriate at the lunch table.
Thanks for the fact that when you’re yelling about something Dad does when he wants us to stay at his house you say, “I can’t believe I married him. God, though, I’m glad I did him because I have four children.”
Thanks for getting me that Barbie creativity book when I was four or five and where I wrote one of my first stories. I was supposed to write about Barbie in a rain storm, and I gave Barbie a bag that turned into an umbrella. I showed you the story, and you smiled, laughed, praised, and I was a writer.