It’s wonderful and hard and exciting and scary– since, more often than not, what we really see when we look at our progeny is a variation on a theme of “mini-Me”.
But it does happen - if we’re lucky.
But it does happen - if we’re lucky.I’m embarrassed to say that my personal moment of recognizing Art Boys completely “other” uniqueness didn’t happen until he was a junior in high school.
That year for Christmas, he presented me with an image he had drawn of Mary from Michelangelo’s ‘Pieta’, using only a purple magic marker.
He patiently responded, “I did, Mom”.
Which only prompted from the now-forever out of-the-running-for-Mother-of-the-Year award- woman standing before him, “No, really; where did you get it; it’s wonderful”.
That whole fumbled encounter was the very first time I had allowed myself to see him, with all his own gifts and abilities which, by the way, bear absolutely NO resemblance to any I recognize in either his father or myself.
That year for Christmas, he presented me with an image he had drawn of Mary from Michelangelo’s ‘Pieta’, using only a purple magic marker.
And I was totally blown away.
In fact, in one of my poorer parenting moments, which I’m sure both my children would tell you are as numerous as grains of sand at the shore, I said something along the lines of “Oh my God, I love it; who drew it?”
Which only prompted from the now-forever out of-the-running-for-Mother-of-the-Year award- woman standing before him, “No, really; where did you get it; it’s wonderful”.
That whole fumbled encounter was the very first time I had allowed myself to see him, with all his own gifts and abilities which, by the way, bear absolutely NO resemblance to any I recognize in either his father or myself.
It amazed me that I had been living all those years with someone who had the talent to create such a powerful piece of work with something as ordinary as a marker.
I was stunned.
Seeing it on a daily basis in my room is a wonderful reminder that my children are not “mine”; they were created to be their own beings; to follow their own paths and to pursue their talents and dreams which may be, and generally are, vastly different than mine.
Today is my oldest son’s birthday.
He is an artist.
It takes a special kind of courage to produce art; to pour yourself into a creation and then step back, put it on display and symbolically say, “here I am; have at it”.
I was stunned.
Seeing it on a daily basis in my room is a wonderful reminder that my children are not “mine”; they were created to be their own beings; to follow their own paths and to pursue their talents and dreams which may be, and generally are, vastly different than mine.
Today is my oldest son’s birthday.
He is an artist.
It takes a special kind of courage to produce art; to pour yourself into a creation and then step back, put it on display and symbolically say, “here I am; have at it”.
It takes even more courage to be willing to cobble together an economically marginal life so you can continue to honor what you believe you're called to do.
He has been my inspiration to be less afraid, to explore more, to play harder and more often and to challenge the ‘rules’ I impose on myself.
He has added color and joy and mystery to my life.
Being his mother has been a privilege that has changed me for the better.
Happy Birthday, Art Boy.
You are loved more than you can imagine – and your imagination is pretty damn good!
He has been my inspiration to be less afraid, to explore more, to play harder and more often and to challenge the ‘rules’ I impose on myself.
He has added color and joy and mystery to my life.
Being his mother has been a privilege that has changed me for the better.
Happy Birthday, Art Boy.
You are loved more than you can imagine – and your imagination is pretty damn good!
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