A few days ago, I asked my 10-year-old son what would make him infinitely happy. His response melted my heart. “A pencil. A pencil and a paper,” he said after a moment of thought.
My little guy loves losing himself in the world of art. He spends his evenings sketching minions and gnomes and Godzilla and Jughead. Of course, given the chance, he would love to watch a cartoon or play on the Wii. But, considering he’s not “given the chance” by his oh-so-boring parents, he gravitates toward solo pursuits of drawing or reading. He hates the spotlight. His dreams are quiet and completely bereft of any element of shine or glitz. And that’s wonderful.
Yet, somehow, in today’s “go big or go home” world, we’re told that only the extravagant and the extraordinary are worth anything.
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