I am writing from the Toronto International Airport returning from TIFF, the Toronto International Film Festival, where my daughter’s first screenplay, Poetic License, premiered in a Maude Apatow directorial debut. How can I explain this out of body experience? I know I have birth to her, I know I taught her how to read, I know that took her movies all the time, and watched Girls with her every Sunday night as if it was a religion. I can also tell you that the premise of the movie is about, um, me, when I audited a screenwriting class and befriended two male students. She walked the red carpet, she fielded questions on panels, she made me hold her shoes. It was the best night of my life.

p.s. I gave it the title.