Moment: April 22nd, 2021 at 1:30 PM
"B-earth-day? Berth-day? Isn't that on a ship?" (P.S. Happy B-earth-day Dad!)
"I wish I had more time to do _______________ for fun!"
How many times have you heard that? How many times have you found yourself saying that?
That blank can be anything: reading, playing music, enjoying the outdoors, etc. As I've gotten older, it's become a more and more common sentiment that we just don't have time for the little things anymore, and people just write it off as a part of growing up.
I had a really eye-opening reminder of this when I overheard my dad talking to some men in his bible study the other day. My dad spotted artwork on the wall in someone's background and asked him about it, and he explained that he had hung up some pictures his kids had drawn during quarantine. I was sitting in another room working furiously on an assignment due later that night, but I had to pause to listen to what he had to say in response. He said:
"Be sure to cherish those drawings and hang them up, because when your kids get older, they won't draw you pictures anymore."
It made me really sad to hear that my dad missed getting all of our random artwork we would bring home from school or church. I used to be so proud of the art I made and would present it to my parents to be boldly displayed on the refrigerator, and looking back at them now, they were terrible. I'm not even going to sugarcoat it, I was no artist, and it probably took a lot of imagination on my parents' part to even figure out what I was trying to create. But rather than trying to make sense, they simply took joy in the fact that I made something and I wanted to share it with them.
But then I grew up and, in the process, lost the ability to just sit down and do things even if I wasn't good at it. When I was a child, I used to love practicing piano with my mom, and she would sit with me for hours while I cranked out wrong note after wrong note. However, when I got older, I would lock myself in my room and practice my pieces, too embarrassed to let anyone hear my mistakes. I missed out on appreciating the joy of playing because I was too busy trying to make my performance perfect, and I came across a post the other day that put this concept of progress over perfection in context:
In college, I realized that my parents didn't care about my perfect art or piano-playing - they were just glad to be a part of what I chose to create. If they could see me in that way, then I could see myself in that way. I let myself be an amateur and tried new things that I was definitely mediocre at, because you miss out on a lot of life when you only choose to do the things you are good at.
In an effort to embrace childhood joy in imperfection, and once again give my dad artwork to hang on our fridge, my brother and I each drew a picture for my dad on his birthday.
I decided to recreate a card I made for my dad's birthday 10 years ago. The cover read "Happy B-earth-day!" because my dad's birthday falls on Earth Day, and had a picture of a tree with little birthday cakes on it. My brother emulated his childhood hobby of drawing people in the style of "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" and drew a portrait of my dad and himself (he used his picture as an opportunity to teach my parents how to dab.)
It turned an average afternoon into a memorable occasion full of laughs and embarrassing dancing, and even though our drawings weren't perfect, they were perfect to our mom and dad. So parents, save those random scribbles and abstract drawings - they will be priceless one day. And kids, draw your parents a picture :)
