A few weeks ago I "rediscovered" a magazine that I remember reading as a teenager: MAD. I thought this mag had gone the way of the dinosaur long ago. I picked up a copy and read it, and then realized that it was not a kid's magazine at all--but a smartly-written and sharply-satirical magazine on political, religious, and popular culture. And I said to myself, "Hey, I should be writing for this magazine!" And so . . .
This week I received my first copy of the magazine in the mail. I proceeded to read it from cover-to-cover, and then on Wednesday night, I cranked out eight pages of MAD magazine material which I promptly mailed on its mad and merry way.
Later that night, my son noted the magazine sitting next to the computer and asked, "What's this? Are you reading comic books now?"
"I just started reading it again," I told him, "and I've written some material that I hope they might publish."
"You write for magazines?" he asked.
I rolled my eyes and tried not to send him sailing to the moon with a swift uppercut. "I have written for a lot of magazines," I said.
"How long have you written for magazines? When did this start?"
"Thirty years ago," I said. "Have you been living in a cave? What do you think I'm doing every night sitting here typing until my fingers bleed?"
"Oh, that," he said, "I thought you were working on some of your crazy books. I didn't realize you could write for magazines. Could I write for a magazine, too?"
"Sure," I said, "In fact . . . I insist on it. All you have to do is finish your homework and then learn how to string a noun and a verb together."
A parent doesn't have to look far for MAD material.
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