Will & Harry both have a gift for drawing. This talent must have skipped a generation for me – my mother & son’s grandmother is also a talented artist. While my mother believes that the ability to put pencil or paintbush to paper can be taught, I am not so certain that this is just hardwired in the DNA of my children.
The artwork of my two son’s reflects their personalities. Will’s drawing are meticulous, detailed, renderings of cars, Iron Man, tanks. Harry’s art is more abstract with big splashes of color. Both seem to enjoy the process of creating, and I hope I can continue to cultivate their talent and interest in art.
I have competition, though. Being the XY creatures they are, my sons have a love affair with all things military – especially guns. Great wars take place in and round my yard and neighborhood. Fellow neighbors ambush my sons with sprays of foam darts. The carcasses litter the sidewalk. My pediatric sensibilities limit their choices to Nerf and water guns with an occasional cap gun thrown in the mix. No BB guns – my past life as a medical student digging the small spheres out of the leg of a surgery clinic patient quashed that pursuit. No airsoft. I can be quite the ogre when the subject comes up about the choices I’ve limited.
Protecting their artistic talents from the testosterone battle fields is my duty as their mom. Quiet creativity takes a backseat to the default setting of the military channel, and I keep pushing it further to the forefront. On the surface, this conflict appears to by feminine ideals versus masculine, but that’s not what it is really all about for me. In truth, I’m trying to perserve gifts and talents that have longevity and legacy far beyond the youthful pursuits of war.