We travel down the highway. Grey skies gripping tightly for the fourth day. Misting rain hits the windows. Passing the airport I again long to be on one of the planes taking off. As much as I hate to fly I love exploring new places.
But that is not the agenda for today. A spontaneous trip to the museum two hours away. A chance to expose him to those considered modern masters. A chance for him to see art is in the eye of the beholder. For him to see there is no perfection in art. No right or wrong way.
“I can draw that,” he says looking at a Matisse. “I know,” I tell him. “And these are considered masters.” As the teen years have approached he has lost that childlike assurance in his gift. He sketches with an ease of which I am jealous. An ease present from the time he could hold a pencil. “You’re just not good at 3-D objects are you mama?” he grins. “No. I’m just not, but I’ll keep trying.” I reply.
Yet his confidence has shrunk as age has increased. Hurt by children taunting his abilities. “You’re not an artist,” they tell him. Words sting as only maturity brings the understanding that jealousy spouts hate. That hurting people hurt people.
The spontaneity though of days like these feed my soul. A break from the routine. Taking him out of school for a day, exposing him to art not found in the small town south. Time with just him, the daddy’s boy since birth. Something I would not change for anything. I love the relationship they have. I can not comprehend friends who complain that their husbands do not take an active role with their children.
And although these days feed my spirit they are not the easiest of days. Keeping in routine and sending him to school is much easier. Dishes and chores and laundry could be completed. But they will still be there when we return.
He complains as I take my time studying each piece of art. Does any eleven year old sit and study anything for more than sixty seconds? It would be easier to send him to school instead of listening to the complaining. One day when maturity finds him he will understand though. Why I want him to experience a Picasso and a Pollock. Why I want him exposed to art and theater and music. Even though he thinks video games are of more pressing importance, one day he will understand.
This is what I have to remind myself of. Yes. One day he will understand. One day he will once again rediscover his childlike confidence in his gift.
And until that one day I will keep encouraging him in that gift and giving thanks to the one who gave me the gift of him.
635. For an unexpected compliment about the photography on my blog. (10/10/11)
636. For a calm day subbing. (10/11/11)
637. For seat warmers in the truck. (10/11/11)
638. For Picasso to Warhol and member previews. (10/12/11)
639. For getting more accomplished after a quick day trip to Atlanta. (10/12/11)
640. For a free smoothie at Panera. (10/13/11)
641. For pouring rain with sun and blue skies blinding from the south. (10/13/11)
642. For low clouds glowing as the moon moves behind then rising above. (10/13/11)
643. For a productive day. (10/14/11)
644. For a fun morning photo session. (10/15/11)
645. For an amazing location for the photo session. (10/15/11)
646. For found treasures from a sweet girl I was photographing. (10/15/11)
