An Old Teacher
I had a long visit with an old professor of mine yesterday. I brought my twelve year old who was awed by the grandeur of the event. As for me, I was amazed that my teacher still looks the same as he did when I used to work for him. He praised my new book. I wept. I told him about the hate mail I have gotten. We talked about his new book and my struggle with learning Aramaic. My favorite thing he said was that he was suffering from a kind of insanity, also known as grandparent-hood. Afterwards, I felt blessed and that perhaps my books are worthwhile enterprises — a rare feeling. I wonder why I discount moments like these and instead focus on all the mistakes I make and all the people who have not understood or liked my work.