Finding a way to help Boots find his way in the world
"It's Mr. Pickle, and he's looking at you," Boots continued, waving the paper excitedly. "Do you love it?"
It looked more like a dog to me. Or maybe Eeyore. Artistic interpretation aside, I was blown away that the offspring of a woman who can't draw a straight line even with a ruler was able to create it.
"Oh, yes, babes! I do love it. This is amazing."
OK, so Picasso he isn't. But for age 5, he's not bad. Guilt washed over me as I realized again how much he's missing in a life that's mostly been geared toward Big Guy's go-go, jock-and-roll preferences. I've known from the beginning that the Miser Brothers have more in common than these two. I've just done a lousy job of swinging the pendulum Boots' way.
Big Guy plays soccer, so Boots does, too. Same with baseball, basketball and karate, though Boots eventually dropped out of the last. He knew all the moves for several belts above his, but the discipline wasn't his bag. Big Guy, for all he rails against rules, actually likes it.
And Boots likes most sports well enough, too. He just doesn't love it with the passion that Big Guy does. It doesn't capture his heart.
What does? Creating. Becoming characters, be it Mario or a humming bird. Weaving tales. This kid can personify anything. He tucked a flashlight into bed one night recently, patting it gently and wishing it "sweet dreams." He believes that his Rice Krispies are talking to him. He talks back, too.
Boots had wanted to take a dance class in the fall - hip hop, because ballet is "for girls" - but it was dropped from the schedule. Looking over the list again this week, though, I saw a few offerings that might appeal to Boots' creative side.
There are even art classes, though none for his age during after-school hours. I think I owe it to him to try to talk his way into it. How could I not, knowing that Mr. Pickle is eyeballing me.
Copyright 2010 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.