NO!  Not right.  It’s beautiful.  Here’s an excerpt:

“For me writing has always felt like praying, even when I wasn’t writing prayers, as I was often enough.  You feel that you are with someone.  I feel I am with you now, whatever that can mean, considering that you’re only a little fellow now and when you’re a man you might find these letters of no interest.  Or they might never reach you, for any of a number of reasons.  Well, but how deeply I regret any sadness you have suffered and how grateful I am in anticipation of any good you have enjoyed.  That is to say, I pray for you.  And there’s intimacy in it.  That’s the truth.”

Maybe I like this because my grandmother is ill and I am having to adjust to the reality that her life is nearer to the end than the beginning and I long to know her like this.  Maybe it’s because I like honest writing about life–even the everyday and the mundane.  Or maybe because I have relationships that I wish were more meaningful.  Or maybe it’s because I’d like to know the inner thoughts of my parents more than I do.

Oh, well.  Whatever the reason, I like it!