One time, about 10 years ago, I found an envelop with great drawings. The envelop was in one of those heavy, old, beginning-to-tear apart albums. I was even more surprised when my mom told me it was hers. My mom could draw some badass pictures, with colored pencils. There was Mowgli, running with a torch, there was Sheherazade dressed in beautiful Arabic dress.
I could never imagine that my mom could draw like that. I knew she used to play guitar and sing and was very popular in college, where guys would ask her to teach them guitar. I knew she could make play dough roses, stick them on naked branches and put them in vases as decorations.
But it was hard to see that romantic, dreamy girl who was looking at me through those drawings in my Mom. Besides, she has a terrible handwriting that -fortunately for me- was inherited by my brother.
I have my dad's beautiful, neat handwriting, ability to write in different beautiful styles and absolute lack of drawing skills.
And now, decades later, that drawing skill came back to surface. My brother draws wonderfully in a drawing app on iPhone. He, with his big fingers, tracing correct smooth lines on a relatively small surface of iPhone 4S. He makes very few mistakes and I can almost see how he thinks. I love it.
