Sam sauntered into the kitchen with his usual swagger.
“Hey mom, so we talked about an artist in art class today.”
My interest was piqued: “Oh really? Tell me about it.”
“Well,” he continued, “This guy was really good at sculpture… sculpturing.”
He thought for a second.
“And he painted too. He was good at lots of stuff.”
I put my fist on my chin and held his gaze. “So you’re saying ‘he was a good sculptor and he kind of did all the things…’ correct?”
“That’ right,” he said.
I dipped into my very shallow pool of my art history data banks.
“I bet you’re talking about ‘Michaelangelo’.”
“Yeah! YESSS That’s it!!!”
He jumped up and down with his typical enthusiasm.
“And… he did this giant sculpture called the, ahhh…. ahhh……. the ‘David’!”
I arched my eyebrows. “Oh, you mean he did a sculpture of… YOUR DAD?????”
Sammy, my five-year-old teenager sighed in exaggerated irritation at my feigned ignorance.
“No, mom… like ‘David and Goliath’!”
“Ah,” I smiled. “You mean the ‘Dah-veed’ which is how Michaelangelo would have pronounced it.”
Sammy nodded his head vigorously.
He went on with his explanation. “And… it’s a BIG sculpture with VERY large hands and feet.”
“Yes,” I added. “The length of the arms, hands and feet are greatly exaggerated because that was an indication of what people thought the ideal male figure should look like.”
“And,” said Sammy finishing my thought, “He has a very tiny–”
“Yes,” I jumped in quickly. “Back then a small male part was more desirable.”
Sam, always making connections stopped to think for a second.
“Mom, does dad have a tiny–”
I stopped him and looked at him with a half smile.
“You could ask him his opinion, but I will say this: He has big hands and that’s all you need to know.”
I cannot wait to take this boy to the art museum and comment very loudly on each and every piece. Maybe we could actually lead an art tour titled, “Incredibly entertaining and not entirely true art criticism by the esteemed mother/son duo.”
An American humorist, writer and author. When boiling down the chicken soup of life, she finds those golden, fried nuggets of truth & writes them long after the kids go to bed.