Creative-Crazy or Crazy-Crazy?

A couple of years ago, my parents bought our son, then two,  a miniature guitar, a 'surprise' after one of their jaunts to the mountains. Etched on the front was a ranch scene with the words, "Home, Home on the Range!" scrawled across the front. A more perfect gift they could not have brought for our son. He was enraptured by this little guitar and has strummed it every day since.

That little guitar has accompanied thousands of songs- those on the radio, those learned in church, those made up by our little musician. He has sung everything from Johnny Cash's 'Ring of Fire' to 'Jesus Loves Me' while strumming along.

Now, I have to admit- he sometimes sings and plays at times it's inconvenient- while I'm on the phone or trying to get his sister down for a nap. But, for the most part, the multiple-times-daily concerts are delightful. We sing songs that his beloved Mr. Tom at AWANA sings. Sometimes he plays and has me sing. Othertimes, he strums along with the music on the television or radio. And our favorite- his playing for his sister who listens with rapt attention and adoration.

Not only does he love the guitar, he loves the harmonica, and, well, anything that makes music. His poor little harmonica (another gift from his Poppa) had been so well-loved and so often-played with that it fell apart.

One day last summer, before his harmonica was no more, we attended a library reading program. A young man told stories interspersed with songs; the storyteller was playing a guitar and had a harmonica holder around his neck. Our son was mesmerized by this man who told stories, sang songs, and played two instruments at once. When I suggested maybe we should put those things on his Christmas list, he quickly agreed.

He spent the rest of the summer and into the fall, balancing his guitar on one knee and holding his harmonica with one hand, trying to re-create what that young man had done. During those months, his daddy and I would smile and nod to one another, silently agreeing that instruments were on the Christmas list. We could hardly wait for Christmas morning!

A few weeks before the Big Day, my friend and I were out shopping. She was telling me what her boys would find under the tree, and when I told her what our son was getting- a guitar with a strap and a harmonica with a holder to fit around his neck so he could play both at the same time- she said, "You're crazy!"

For a moment I paused, then asked with a smile, "Creative-crazy or crazy-crazy?" I thought it would be the former, not the latter.

"Crazy-crazy!"

"I was hoping you'd say creative-crazy."

"No, crazy- crazy!"

Maybe she's right. Maybe I'm crazy. In fact, I know I'm crazy....about my kids. I'm not alone. Their daddy is crazy about them, too. And we're dedicated to equipping them with whatever tools they need to follow their passions.

Right now our son is a budding musician. In two years, he may not be. Then again, we may be 'upgrading' to a better guitar.

Whatever his (and his siblings' passions) we hope one day, when our children are grown, that they will look back and say, "Daddy and Momma were crazy about us! They encouraged and nurtured our creativity (whatever that may be- music, art, sports,dance, language....). And they never once used earplugs!"