Pass it On!

About 10 years ago, when my "middle guy" was 7, he began drawing superheroes and cars and stuff. Nothing unusual; at his age, I did the same things and so did many of my classmates. Everyone was an artist! We didn't concern ourselves with our student loans, the need to put grocery on the table, and whether we could afford a new or "used" hybrid ~ selah! But it was his intensity in drawing that sent up silent hope and a prayer: Lord, bless him to use the talent I have not.

At the time, my art supplies from college were buried somewhere in my parents basement and in my head, "art" was 20 years away for me, hidden behind retirement from drudgery and income-earning. Praying this prayer, of course I secretly longed for my own deliverance, even if, in my estimation, it would only be possible after I served my punishment, having abandoned my talents to the back of my mind, in 1984.

"EJ," as he is known, loved art, but not like his dad. When he started high school, he had his one exposure to an art class. He loved it! When I went with him to an open house the following year, his sophomore year, he wasn't interested in my meeting his current teachers; he wanted me to meet his art teacher from freshman year. An uneventful meeting, on the surface, but beneath words unsaid was the sense that an "artist" was meeting an "artist," introduced by an artist. That same year, he found 'art' behind the lens, in the way my analytical, mechanical minded son would. He was bored with the drawing of details, but he loved that a camera could fill in the blanks with ease. He took pictures of everything, learning composition and lighting and constantly researching as any current generation genius does - through youtube!

Honestly, I still find it strange and fascinating that he's willing to take pictures of me or my "studio." It's as if some magic or wonder is still held in this old guy; I guess that's the bond of parents with children. The image attached is his work, and through his eyes, I see 'me' in a new light. Where I normally see a cluttered combination exercise/studio/office, he sees a land of wonder and imagination. Where I see a place confining, he sees an open door to endless possibility.

I titled this blog entry "Pass it on," but often, it seems my son (and oldest daughter and youngest son) pass on to me an appreciation of the "who" God made me to be. I silently pray that not a day goes by where I don't live up to the possibility God and my children think me capable of.