Son of Mine - Part 1

Venom – May 2009

When I had my eldest son, I made a promise to allow him to be who he wanted without much influence from me. Most people expected that I would push him into sports because that was my life and as he grew and developed, he had an ability much greater than mine.

He was always a great student. Honors testing in Kindergarten and honors classes through 8th grade. He was a geek and an athlete which put him in a category to be picked on and he was.

His abilities on the baseball and football fields gained him seasonal friends but the rest of the year was lonely for him. Around the age of 8, we moved into a subdivision where he knew five boys from our former neighborhood. He did spend more time outside and at the park, but he grew more introverted. Art became his solace.

His art was stick figures - drawing animals and Star Wars scenes… we aren’t talking Picasso, but what you would expect from an 8-year-old. He spent hours and hours drawing.

At the time I worked for a Christian Television station. One of the broadcasters that I liked, Joe McGee, had come in to tape his program on Family and Finances. He stopped by my office and took a seat. He saw my son’s artwork and school pictures, asked how old he was, and made general conversation. In particular, he commented about the Star Wars picture. I said something like “I know he isn’t Rembrandt but I figure if my son took the time to draw it for me the least I can do is put it in a cheap frame and hang it in my office.”

That day Joe McGee challenged me to start looking at my son’s art work as if he were Rembrandt. Even though I was on a tight budget – buy him a higher quality paper, maybe some real art pencils. What he was really doing was encouraging me to treat his interest in art the way I treated his time on the baseball and football field – with reverence.

From 2006 until May 2009, I watched as my son’s art talent grew from stick figures to scaled drawing. He could draw something he was looking at to scale smaller or larger almost perfect. Some drawings would have 40 or more hours involved.

Sept-2009

He played sports seasonally and flag football turned to tackle football, basketball through the YMCA or church in the Winter, and league baseball in the Spring. He enjoyed his success on the football field and that coaches from the high school would come watch him but didn't care for the "Dad Coaches" on his team and their biases. They would have him play both sides of the ball the entire game and if they lost - well he didn't give enough. Basketball was endured – he played because his best friend who lived in another district could be on his team. Baseball, I think he played baseball for me. He was good at 1st base and held stolen base records for 2 years – it wasn’t like he didn’t do his best – but his friends played on other teams and it was hard. He took up golf during this time as well.

In May 2009, on a 2-day drive from West Texas to Chicago for a family emergency, my son confided in me that he was depressed. Drawing helped him channel his feelings. Even though he was the tallest and strongest kid in his class, he was being bullied because people knew he wouldn’t fight back. He didn't have friends at school and the kids on his sports team were fair-weather acquaintances.

My 11 year old told me somewhere in Missouri - “Mom – sometimes I think about killing myself.”