Yes, my parents are the ones who (may) have the copies of Help!. I was very lucky to have a weird childhood. My parents read to me from The Evergreen Review and Help! Magazine along with Winnie the Pooh and the Pogo Papers. I was lucky because they never assumed I wasn't smart enough or educated or old enough to get the supposedly grown-up writing they loved. We shared interests and activities, and I got to do things, like learn how to build a camper, travel the country, hike to the top of Mt. Rushmore, read Ferlinghetti and Brautigan, etc.
I hope I am providing my kids a sufficiently weird childhood that when they grow older, they will be as proud of me as I am of my parents. To this end, among other things, I have read them a lot of Pinkwater.
I don't understand your use of the word, """"weird,"""" in this post. Obviously, from your brief account, there was nothing in the least weird about your childhood. It seems to have been a perfectly normal, maybe more enriched than usual, sort of childhood. I can only guess that you wrote, """"weird,"""" because influenced by many people who apply that word to things too lively for their comfort.
