#ToBeTheArtist #ShortStory

 There was once a young boy, who lived with his mother and father in a small cottage that looked out to a vast landscape. The cottage sat in the valley of a small forest, away from prying eyes. You needed to look closely, to see it, otherwise, you would miss it. They didn't have much, but they lived their lives like it cost them so much, taking each day as it came.

One morning, after helping with the daily chores, the boy's father invited him to his workshop. His father said that were to build a table together, and that it would be made of wood. The boy's mother stayed out in the garden, painting, and drawing - she was an artist, and she was a painter too.

The boy's father, being a carpenter, was proud of his workshop, and the boy saw how much his father loved his work, and was amazed by it all. He had never really been inside the workshop. So to see his father work, was such a great honour.

"This is art, my dear boy. It takes skill to be able to build something like this or that. But it takes time and practice too, which I believe we can do together," said the boy's father.

The boy knew what his father said was true and he wanted to be a great carpenter like him. So every day, after school, after daily chores, he would go to the workshop to build the table. While his father worked, the boy worked, watching his father every day, copying and following every move. 

By the end of it, they both stood up and looked at their creations. The boy looked at his father's table and saw how well it looked. The edges, the legs, and even the flat surface looked magnificent. However, when the boy looked at his own table, which was smaller in size, it didn't quite look the same, even after following his father's every move. But despite his sadness, the boy's father was very proud of his son. For what he had achieved. 

"Don't be sad about the table Son. Remember that it takes time and practice, and one day, you'll be just as good. This is a fantastic first try. Much better than I did when I was your age," smiled the boy's father, with pride and joy. "You can come here whenever you want to practice." 

He took the table to show his mother the work that he had done. And she too told him how proud of him she was. She asked if she could use it as a side table, which he didn't mind. But, the boy went back every day to try again. But still, his second table wasn't as good as his father's.

One day, while his father had gone to town, the boy went into his father's workshop and found a sheet of paper with a pencil. He remembered that it was Mother's Day soon, and he didn't have a present for her. 

"If I cannot be a carpenter yet like my father, then I'll draw a picture for my mother," said the boy to himself.

He took the small table (now a side table), out into the garden. He sat down, took a deep breath like he saw his mother do many times, closed his eyes, and as he exhaled, he started to draw on the paper he had found with the pencil too. 

He was so focused on his drawing, that he didn't hear his father calling him. Instead, he felt a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, and as if being pulled out of a trance, he heard his father.

"What are you doing out here my boy?" asked his father.

"I decided to draw a picture of the house so that I can give it to Mother as a present on Mother's Day. All the kids at school had an amazing idea and I didn't know what to get her until I went to your workshop and found this pencil and paper," replied the boy to his father.

His father smiled and kindly asked if he could take a closer look. The boy hesitated. And so his father closed his eyes and placed his hands out. The boy recognised this gesture, which is what his father did whenever his mother finished a new painting. So smiling, the boy got up and carefully placed the corner edges of the paper in each hand, so his father could pinch the corners. 

The boy counted down from 10 like he had heard his mother do many times and looked away. And when he got to one, he heard his father take a deep breath, exhale. 

The boy waited patiently, and after what seemed like quite a while, he turned to look up at his father's face. But instead of the beaming smile that he always saw when his mother revealed her paintings, he saw tears rolling down his father's face. The boy didn't know what to do. He had never seen his father like this before. He suddenly felt sadness. 

"My drawing is terrible, that it has made my father cry," thought the boy to himself.

The boy went to the house shouting for his mother. His voice was shaky and he seemed upset. 

"What has happened? What is the matter?" asked the boy's mother. 

The boy pointed to his father who was still standing at the end of the garden, holding the boy's picture. The boy's mother took his hand, and together, they walked to the end of the garden.

Without disturbing his father, the boy's mother pointed to the side table and asked the boy to sit down. She then went and squeezed the boy's father's shoulder. The boy's father looked at his wife and then at the drawing, which he slowly handed to her.

The boy looked at his mother, who had the biggest smile that he has ever seen. He then looked at his father, who was now smiling, and he suddenly looked confused.

"This is beautiful!" said the boy's mother, "This is beautiful indeed."

"That is the most beautiful drawing of our house that I have ever seen, Son!" said the boy's father quietly.

"Do you like it?" asked the boy to his mother.

"Yes, of course, I do! I love it so much!" replied his mother.

"It's your Mother's Day gift. The second table that I made, didn't turn out the way that I wanted," said the boy sadly.

"You are an artist, Son! You are very talented, like your mother. I should have known," said the boy's father.

As they stood together looking at what they had done, the boy realised that he was proud to be an artist. Just like his mother, and maybe one day like his father.