By Jim Hagarty
I am so proud of my daughter.
Last night, she created, what I think, is a new word.
As I was sucking on my seventh or eighth popsicle in a row – it’s hot up here in Canada right now – my little doggie jumped on my lap, eager to participate in the frozen treat bonanza.
“He thinks it’s a pupsicle,” she said. And he did.
She’s a writer too. And any creative writer who doesn’t invent words now and then is probably just a stenographer. (Kids, ask Grandma what that is.)
I don’t work with wood, except as a rough carpenter, with clay, wool or flowers.
I play with words like you might do with your tennis ball on Sunday mornings.
And years ago, in my mind anyway, I reached the pinnacle of my creativeness when I coined the word “geneosity.” I explained to my kids, who were baffled by their dad’s latest invention, that geneosity refers to my genius and my generosity. They reacted to my new creation, and have done ever since when I used it, with a very old and familiar word: the groan.
My geneosity is my being generous with my genius.
I thought it captured my personality perfectly.
My kids seem to believe I am indulging in a bit of insanosity.
Now that’s just a stupid word which I will never use again.
But maybe that’s just me being way too promisecute.
And of course, I discourage promiscutey.
