Something About Talent

I look at my thirteen-year old granddaughter

and wonder if one day the world will be as

amazed with her talents as I am. She draws,

she paints, she plays the clarinet, the man-

dolin, the piano and guitar. From an early age

I was told of my talent for the visual arts. I

too found a diversity in expression with the

pencil, the pen and brush. I could actually

take a clump of clay and mold it into some-

thing people would recognize. In art class I

got A s every year while failing or barely pas-

sing my math, history and English. At that

stage in life, I believed in God the Father,

The Son and Holy Ghost, but could barely

manage to pass religion for my then fervent

beliefs. You do have a gift with art I was told,

but you’ll never make a living drawing Micky

Mouse and Popeye. There are already other

artists doing that. Well, damn it anyway. I’m

going to continue doing what I love to do.

Screw my chances at getting paid. (I was

stubborn that way.) At this time it’s hard to

say which direction my granddaughter might

take. She will certainly have many options

finding a suitable career when the time comes.

Oh, and by the way, I sometimes proudly claim

that she may have gotten some of her artistic ten-

dencies handed down from me genetically. Unlike

me, however, her academic endeavors in school

are rewarded with straight A s. (As a rule, girls

generally excel more than boys that way.) As

a young man, musically I used to play the har-

monica some. I could manage getting through

Oh, Susanna, being off-key a bit here and there.

Only folks who were old enough and familiar

with that tune could tell what I was trying to

play. Problem was, I’ve smoked way too many

cigarettes in my time and didn’t have the breath

needed for a decent rendition. My granddaughter

is indeed blessed with loads of talent, I am

pleased to say. What’s more, she doesn’t smoke

and happens to be a hell of a lot smarter than I.

Chris Hanch 5-22-19