A Defining Moment
When I was 16 years old my father, who was a Mechanical Engineer with LTV, would take oil painting lessons. He had great technical skill as a draftsman and enjoyed learning to oil paint. He spent many hours and dollars on this hobby. He recognized that I had an artistic ability and decided to give me all of his expensive equipment, paints, brushes, canvases, easel and other items. I was ecstatic, but felt a bit like the gift was too great. I was the fifth child out of six and expensive gifts were not the norm. He saw that I was hesitant to take these items that he loved and said, as payment, I could do him a painting, the FIRST painting. I was excited just to be able to paint, I said great! My dad soon found a picture of some pheasants leaping up to fly from some tall brush and I agreed to paint them. As I painted and time passed I decided that I really disliked painting pheasants. I wanted to paint people or anything else really. It was slow going because I really didn't want to paint those dumb birds.
With each passing day my dad would come home from work and the first thing he would ask is 'Did you finish my painting?' Every weekend he would say 'Are you going to work on my painting?' Soon summer arrived so I was home from school and my dad would get home everyday asking 'Did you finish my painting?' By this time I had totally quit working on it. I was a teenager and had other things that I wanted to do.
Finally I had had it. I sat down and quickly and carelessly finished the painting. I rushed. I didn't do my best by any means and I didn't care. I just wanted the burden off my back. I signed it and was content to say it was done! I waited for my father to come home he would ask the question and I would answer yes! I was feeling smug and quite happy to be done with it.
My dad came into the kitchen, he got a drink and ate an apple and for the first time in months he didn't ask about his painting. Finally, the wait was killing me, I said 'Dad, aren't you going to ask! I finished your painting'. Being a teenager I had totally not considered how much this painting actually meant to him. I was completely shocked and surprised by his reaction of utter excitement as he literally ran to the room where the painting was. He praised the painting over and over, he hugged me and told me how proud he was of me and with each joyful utterance I felt smaller and smaller. I tried to dismiss it out of my mind. I wanted to be done and didn't want to work on the piece any more. He seemed happy enough with it so what was the big deal. But I still felt guilty because of my poor work and my poor work ethic, my father would be so sad and disappointed in me if he knew.
Later that week I saw my dad coming up the walk from work carrying the pheasant painting beautifully framed. I was horrified to learn that he had taken it to work and had shown all of his co-workers and friends. I was as dramatic as any teenager could be in expressing my grief. My dad did not understand the problem. He loved the painting and was so proud of my work but I felt dark inside because I knew the awful truth.
Two weeks later my father passed away. Everyone that came to the funeral that were close to or even remotely knew my dad would greet me and say 'Oh yes you're the one that painted the pheasants your dad was so proud of that painting.' There were so many people that day and with each praise of the painting the sting of how poorly I had kept our agreement surfaced. My dad had always taught me to do my best and I had failed him. I learned an important lesson that day about doing your best. You may not realize at the time how important it is to someone else or to yourself and your future.
© Copyright Mary Ann Nelson McAlister. All Rights Reserved ©
Images of artwork on maryannart.com may not be reproduced in whole or part under penalty of law.
With each passing day my dad would come home from work and the first thing he would ask is 'Did you finish my painting?' Every weekend he would say 'Are you going to work on my painting?' Soon summer arrived so I was home from school and my dad would get home everyday asking 'Did you finish my painting?' By this time I had totally quit working on it. I was a teenager and had other things that I wanted to do.
Finally I had had it. I sat down and quickly and carelessly finished the painting. I rushed. I didn't do my best by any means and I didn't care. I just wanted the burden off my back. I signed it and was content to say it was done! I waited for my father to come home he would ask the question and I would answer yes! I was feeling smug and quite happy to be done with it.
My dad came into the kitchen, he got a drink and ate an apple and for the first time in months he didn't ask about his painting. Finally, the wait was killing me, I said 'Dad, aren't you going to ask! I finished your painting'. Being a teenager I had totally not considered how much this painting actually meant to him. I was completely shocked and surprised by his reaction of utter excitement as he literally ran to the room where the painting was. He praised the painting over and over, he hugged me and told me how proud he was of me and with each joyful utterance I felt smaller and smaller. I tried to dismiss it out of my mind. I wanted to be done and didn't want to work on the piece any more. He seemed happy enough with it so what was the big deal. But I still felt guilty because of my poor work and my poor work ethic, my father would be so sad and disappointed in me if he knew.
Later that week I saw my dad coming up the walk from work carrying the pheasant painting beautifully framed. I was horrified to learn that he had taken it to work and had shown all of his co-workers and friends. I was as dramatic as any teenager could be in expressing my grief. My dad did not understand the problem. He loved the painting and was so proud of my work but I felt dark inside because I knew the awful truth.
Two weeks later my father passed away. Everyone that came to the funeral that were close to or even remotely knew my dad would greet me and say 'Oh yes you're the one that painted the pheasants your dad was so proud of that painting.' There were so many people that day and with each praise of the painting the sting of how poorly I had kept our agreement surfaced. My dad had always taught me to do my best and I had failed him. I learned an important lesson that day about doing your best. You may not realize at the time how important it is to someone else or to yourself and your future.
© Copyright Mary Ann Nelson McAlister. All Rights Reserved ©
Images of artwork on maryannart.com may not be reproduced in whole or part under penalty of law.
