Mom’s red pen. My kids still talk about the dreaded thing like it was a dagger to their heart. When they were in high school, they occasionally requested me to edit their papers. I would wield my trusty red pen as I scrutinized the text, correcting grammar and punctuation, as needed, and making notes in the margins regarding the content. When they trundled off to college, I assumed my editorial services would no longer be needed. However, I was called back into action periodically to help polish their term papers.
You’d think the red marks were brutal lashes the way they reminisce about the harshness of my edits. Nonetheless, they were either gluttons for punishment or silently appreciated my efforts because they always came back for more.
Now the shoe is on the other foot. I’m asking them to review my work. However, there is a bit of trepidation amongst the ranks. “What if I don’t like it? I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” my daughter said. They’re hesitant to crack the spine of the book in case they aren’t thrilled with the contents inside. It’s both kind of sweet and a bit insulting at the same time. I’d think that, after all these years, they’d relish the opportunity to hoist the mighty pen.
