I remember being given the first Harry Potter novel as a Christmas gift when it came out — by one of THE worst gift-givers in my life — and how ANGRY they were later when I reported I just didn’t think it was very good. Who would read this when they could read Roald Dahl?

Twenty-some years later; the whole world tries to look smarter by saying they never thought they were very good books. Oh, and the author is basically a trans-hating pubic crab with a barrette.

I’m still so touched that my pal Jeff in England got the kids the Phillip Pullman books; we never would have known of them otherwise. And Susan Cooper… honestly, all the best books we ever found, we found when they left “school”.

I don’t care when mine watch the movies, I wouldn’t care if they read the books (I think they tried, via peer pressure, but gave up.) They are old enough to make bad decisions just because they think it will make me clutch my pearls, and if they don’t know already, they should learn that doesn’t give as much satisfaction as they might have hoped.

As long as I’ve got what I’m reading (and writing), and listening to, I’m just fine. And that’s particularly scrumptious lately.