Awards, I know, are a bit luck, timing and the template of the time. Lots of talented people never win awards, and lots of not-so-talented people win them all the time. How does one accept or understand recognition of their work?

I have always been one of those people who is suspicious of praise, as I fear it distorts reality and warps perspective. I do not really believe I am especially gifted in any way, not more than anybody else,  and so I find ways of dismissing praise, which is, I suppose, another kind of struggle story. A good friend has cautioned me to accept praise, be grateful for it, open myself up to it. This is what happened in Madison this weekend, surrounded by all of these loving, conscientious and committed teachers and librarians, definitely my tribe, without question a community I felt at home in, even though I never got along with teachers, or had one that liked me all that  much. I did better with librarians, who are partial to oddball outcasts and suckers for them as long as they read books. Libraries have always been refuges for refugees.

I was a trial, I think as a kid and never got good grades in any class. No awards for me there. Mr. Hauser, my fourth grade math teacher wept in front of my mother when told he had to try and teach me math again, and for the third time, poor man (it never took, I still can’t do any divisions or multiplications or add up a restaurant check.) I fear I broke him.

I am one of those outside-the-tent people, as many of you reading this are. I never have found a group I wanted to belong to, or felt comfortable with, and years ago, I just accepted the idea that I would be looking through the gates. When you get a big-deal award, that idea is challenged. Now, what do I do? I told Maria on the way home, hey, I’m an award-winning author now. Yes, she said, that’s what I’ve been telling you.  It’s for you too, Mr. Hauser.