Elmore Leonard, my daughter, and me

Pride is a weird thing. Sometimes it sneaks up on you.

Of course, being a parent, there are always potential moments of great pride. Seeing your kid hit a home run or scoring a touchdown. Of getting straight A’s. Of helping someone in need. It takes all shapes, all forms.

And the feeling! There is — at least for me — a physical sense of the experience.

It’s almost like a drug. My chest swells, my stomach calms, my brain fizzes. Seeing your kid succeed is, quite simply, the best.

And in my 14 years of being a parent, I’ve felt this feeling numerous times. But never more so than I did the other night, when I walked past my 9-year-old’s room at bedtime and saw her in her chair, light on, head buried in a book.

See, I have read every single novel — many numerous times — by Elmore

Leonard.

Leonard, who died 10 years this August, wrote 48 books, starting with westerns in the 1950s before moving into what is called “mystery” at the bookstore, but his books were not about genre.

The guy was, to my ears, the best writer who ever lived. At least the best writer I ever read. His plots were fun, the stories wonderful, but it was his way with words, his ear for dialogue, that separated Leonard

from the pack.

If you haven’t read him, you should. And if you haven’t read him, you’ve probably watched him. “Justified” was based on a character from his novels. “Get Shorty,” “Out of Sight,” “Jackie Brown,” “Hombre” and “3:10 to Yuma” were all Leonard books before they were movies.

I first read him around the age of 14, picked up his novel “Glitz,” which was A) his big commercial breakthrough (at age 60 or so)

and B) was definitely not for 14-year olds.

I remember reading it on a family vacation to Wildwood. I also remember going back to Waldenbooks when we got home to buy more Leonard.

Some 37 years later, he remains my favorite novelist, and I cannot imagine he will never not be my favorite novelist.

Oh and one other thing: I lied. I haven’t read all of his novels. There’s one I haven’t read. It’s titled “A Coyote’s in the House.”

Tried to get my oldest to read it once. He demurred. My middle kid has a learning disability. Wasn’t for her.

My youngest, however, noted my bookshelf the other day, saying something to the effect of, “You have a lot of Elmore Leonard books.” Then I showed her “A Coyote’s in the House.” She read the flap. She said it looked good. She took it into her room.

That day, she read a few pages, put it down. It was nice.

But when I walked by her room the other night, intent on telling her to turn out the lights and go to bed, I saw her engrossed in the novel.

“You like it?” I asked. “I love it,” she said.

I told her she could stay up as late as she wanted.