And Now a Word from the Blogged-About
Do I like having my mother write about me? It’s complicated. by India “Inky” Kotis, age 11
May 8, 2009
Mama writes the East Village Inky in a big red leather chair most of the time, and sometimes at the table. She hates it when anybody looks over her shoulder.
She writes other stuff, too — like “self-mocking autobiographies.” I’m not sure what that means. It’s probably something like a personal narrative but you tease yourself in it. Plus, she wrote a toddler-book called Always Lots of Heinies at the Zoo, and a teenager graphic novel.
There’s nothing I know that Mama won’t write about. My hobbies include reading, drawing, pushing elevator buttons, and going to camp. I think Mama probably writes more accurately about me than what I think is accurate. People get a pretty clear idea of who I am. Maybe, just maybe, reading it on paper is funnier than the real thing (but only a .0005 chance).
I used to get embarrassed when she wrote stuff about me, ’cause I was scared people would take it the wrong way. I used to get embarrassed when she wrote stuff about me, ’cause I was scared people would take it the wrong way. Once, Mama wrote that I told her, “In sixty years, you’ll be 100!” I thought people would think I was accusing my mom of being old and not “respecting my elders.” It’s not the accusing I was most afraid of, but that people would laugh in a “Ha-ha-I-think-it’s-funny-she-said-that!” way.
As for when I was little and she drew me naked, I don’t feel embarrassed about that. The way I figure, it’ll be a way to remember what I looked like then. Although I wouldn’t let her do it now!
I wouldn’t mind her writing anything except about my work in school, ’cause some of my school buddies’ parents (and even a few of my schoolmates) read the zine. Mama keeps my schooling pretty confidential. If it were to happen, I would hide out in the basement for until at least another year.