The crumbled paper lay in the bottom of the file cabinet. Picking it up and smoothing out the wrinkles. I noticed words on the back written in grade school scrawl. “To Mommy. Love, Mike.” The front side of the paper revealed several brightly colored flowers in a vase. The style might be considered impressionistic had it been hanging in the Art Institute of Chicago. The water colors ran together a bit and the vase was off-centered but it reminded me of an abstract still life by a famous painter. The edges of the paper were frayed but I decided to mat it and see how it looked.
That day I went to the hobby store and found a clear frame, the perfect size for my little artwork. I put the picture in the frame and hung it on our bedroom wall. The pinks and purple of the flowers blended well with the color scheme of the room. The little green vase added the perfect accent to the picture.
Going about my other chores and errands of the day, the picture became an afterthought.
My husband arrived home as I started dinner. He climbed the stairs to the bedroom to change out of his work clothes. Emerging from the room, he kissed me on the cheek then said, “I see you’ve been out spending your money today.”
“What do you mean?”
I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about.
“The picture in the bedroom. Who painted it?”
I told him how I had cleaned out my file cabinet and found our son’s school artwork. We laughed about my found treasure.
Neither of us are art aficionados but we know what we like and what is meaningful to us. Our son is now 24-years-old and living on the west coast, but the painting remains on our bedroom wall for us to admire and remember. Painted approximately fifteen years ago, the colors are as vibrant as ever, just as our love for our son is.