Hi, again.

I have made it to the end of Chapter 8.

Chapters 4, 5 & 6 caused a small shift in my brain. I "pffft'd" your advice about heroes. Then I listened to what I was feeling. So many memories flooded my brain. This time I didn't run away and slam the door.

All my heroes had clay feet. They let me down, disappointed, or failed to live up to my expectations of what a hero should do and be. The universe recently tapped the memory of my daughter bursting into tears when I told her I didn't know the answer to something she'd asked me.

I'd just come home from the grocery store after a long day on a job I almost hated, and I still had to make dinner. I was too tired for one of our discussions about something new she'd learned in class. I don't remember what she asked, but "Erin, (sigh) I don't know," wasn't what she needed to hear. Her wail, "But I thought you knew everything," lodged in my heart.

She was eight or nine at the time, and my girl was letting me know that until then, I'd been her hero. She gave me cards for Mother's Day AND Father's Day. Erin told me I was both. (Divorce causes some moms to wear both hats.)

Years later, I've still been her most constant hero (acknowledged occasionally now that she's an adult). But now I know that real heroes are human, like me. We have our shortcomings, our moments of weakness, indecision, and disappointment. But . . . if we keep getting up and going up, we earn hero/she-ro-ship.

So, having said all that, I know that my father is still my first hero. I hated him later, and wished him dead. My mother is my first she-ro. And Toni Morrison has been and still is my first writing She-ro. I am able to acknowledge the reasons why, if only to myself.

Anne, I'm not sure I would have her if not for you.

I have written two major pieces since finishing Chapter 8.

Thank you.