I imagine Einstein emerging from his bedroom: “Mother, good news, I have just unified space and time in one theory. I’m calling it my Special Theory of Relativity.”
“Albert, Albert, don’t be a show-off. No one likes a bragger. If the theory is so special, you should let other people say so.”
Or Sir Edmund Hillary, back from Everest:
“I made it, Dad.”
“Well,that’s good, son, but it’s no reason to tramp snow into the living room.”
Richard Glover in Flesh Wounds, the story of his unusual upbringing by a mother who was a fantasist who ended up living in what Glover calls “an enchanted nudist hobbit hole”, and a gifted, charismatic, alcoholic father. It’s a very enjoyable read, not only for the parental eccentricities but also for the richly engaging story of Glover’s own happy relationship with his wife, the screenwriter and playwright Debra Oswald, and his two sons.
Richard Glover, Flesh Wounds (ABC Books 2015).