My parents don't know that I know that they read my blog. Or maybe they do.
It's cool. I never really posted anything I didn't want them to see. I only kept from forwarding it along to them because, per previous experience of when I write/do/make something, family friends or distant relatives I haven't spoken to in years tend to surface and tell me what a lovely poem/essay/story I wrote, and that my parents had sent it to them. It's weird. I guess I just wanted this to be a little hands-off. I don't always know how to respond to certain kinds of compliments and feedback. Sometimes I just don't want to.
(My dad's the one who slipped. He kept mentioning things from the blog that I definitely hadn't told them yet. He confirmed my hunch last night when I showed them the photo of the red car from Brooklyn and he said, "Have we seen this before?" and my mom deliberately shook her head at him. It's kind of funny, really.)
Just the other day, in fact, he passed along to me that someone he knows thinks I have a good voice.
Me: "Where did she hear it?"
Him: "Oh, I forwarded along something from the internet to her, some songs you recorded with a guy in Oberlin a couple years ago? She said (long string of compliments)."
Does anyone else get why this bothers me? No? Hm. I guess it's my complex. Do everyone's parents google their children? Probably.
Anyway, happy reading, mom and dad. I love you. I won't edit too much.