"No," Larry interrupted. "Just, no. Stop."
"What?" I can't tell him what a good job he did?"
"Gus didn't draw that."
"Oh. Did you pick up one of the other kids' drawings by mistake?"
"I drew it."
"Oh. Well it's really nice. Good job."
"We were working on art."
"Yes. Evidently he has inherited my lack of interest in drawing."
Which brings us to the teacher's report:
Miss Rosemary to Larry: Have you not done much art with Gus?
Larry: I'm sorry?
Miss Rosemary: I just wondered if Gus had done much art.
Larry: Oh, well, you know, just the usual amount, I guess.
Miss Rosemary: Because when I gave Gus a crayon, he just stared at it. And then he dropped it on the floor and crawled off.
As Larry's telling me this, I'm feeling all proud that Gus didn't eat the crayon, because that's his approach to art when he's at home. I think this is progress.
So, Larry and I were laughing about Gus doing art, but I could tell that deep down, Larry was still stewing about what Miss Rosemary said. Of course, you'd have to really know him to notice the catch in his voice. The subtle angst. It was something about the way he said, "Yeah, my kid's one. We've done a lot of art with him ... my ASS."