Richard Wright

author of strange, dark fictions



August 26, 2012 by Richard Wright in Journal, Life

My daughter is nine years old today. That’s just freaking ridiculous.

Was I bizarrely proud when she got ten times more excited over the comics and books in her present haul than the toys and computer games? Hell yes.

We threw her a party yesterday, with some of her friends from in and out of school, and gave a couple of kids a lift (party was at a bowling alley). Driving through Delhi, her friends (also ex-pats) start chatting about stuff they’re seeing out of the window, making fun, pointing and laughing, as kids do. When Eva started to explain to them, a bit uncomfortably, that it wasn’t really funny because everybody has different cultures, and some of these people were poor with no money at all (we were passing a slum)… well, yeah, I was prouder that I thought it was possible to be. She’s got the most amazing heart.

Happy birthday, Eva.

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