Earlier this year, Max submitted a poem to Highlights magazine. We were working on odes in our poetry journal and he thought it would be fun to see if it got published.
When a letter arrived a few weeks later thanking Max for his submission but explaining why it would not be published, Max was slightly dejected but surprisingly understanding. More understanding than his mother, who was raised to believe that being "the best" was the least one should do. We hung the rejection letter on the wall and shared a number of smirks and giggles over it.
Lo and behold, while reading the most recent issue of Highlights, a subscription gifted by our dear Grandma Vicki, Max discovered a poem called "Ode to My Swing" authored by none other than himself. He whooped with glee. I had to hide my puffy-chested pride and focus on congratulating him without over-emphasizing a "win". But I am so very proud of him- and can share it here.
MAX: "Mom, does this mean I am a published poet now?"
ALINA: "Yes, I think so."
