Willow Tree

In Their Corner

There are no artist that can ever be as creative and inspired as one's own children. A story they have penned would, if all were honest, make the NYT bestsellers list. They are budding commedians, musicians, acrobats, somethings. We see the gold beneath the dust, the pearl in the making.

My kids tell me "You always think everything we do is fantastic." They are right; I do. They are fantastic, wonderful, real gifts from G-d that, well, sorry all, but no one else's children match up nor should anyone else's children match up.

I think all children need to know they are special, wonderful, fantastic in at least one persons eyes. That, in some ways, the world does revolve about them that. They can take a more objective view of themselves from the world, from themselves. From me, they'll get the real truth.

They are special and I am lucky to have them in my life.

So what brought that on? My daughter, the Monkey, just brought over three artistic renderings to my friend, two for her (because she was sick) and one for the baby we were caring for yesterday. I know her pictures, drawn on small, post-it-note sized pieces of paper will never hang in the Louvre or the MET; but they will always
have a place in my heart.