A few months back, my youngest son asked if he could take art classes. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and we signed him up at Sparc (a local community center type place).

He came back from the first class a little disheartened. They’d been drawing hands in class, and hands are really, really tough – particularly for a 6-year old. The art teacher, though, asked him to bring something in with him to future classes. That way if they were doing something too complex, she could show him how to draw whatever he brought.

He came back from the next class positively glowing. She’d showed them how to draw faces, and the one he’d drawn was scary good, way better than any face I’d ever drawn.

In subsequent classes, she showed him how to draw dogs and horses, and taught him different shading techniques. With each victorious showing of his art, he grew prouder and prouder.

“Daddy,” he said. “What do you draw best?”

“Hmm. Probably landscapes,” I said. I’m not much of an artist, but I can draw a pretty mean tree, if I do say so myself.

You probably know what’s coming. The big guy came back from the very next art class with a landscape. Though not terribly 3-dimensional, it had good composition, and the shading was fantastic. Smiling ear-to-ear, he showed his momma.

“Look, momma! She asked what we wanted to draw and I said landscapes.”

“Wow.” She held it up to look, then turned it around to show me.

“That’s great,” I said.

“I know!” He was practically hopping from leg to leg. “Is it the best landscape you’ve ever seen, Momma? Is it?”

“It might be,” she said.

Hmph.