Who Cares if I Have Talent?

Shane makes movies.  He’s been making movies since he was old enough to hold the big, clunky toy camera he got when he was in first grade.  He makes movies with the little people, the action figures and the dog.  He’s made so many movies, no one has ever seen them all.  We dump them on his personal hard drive so he can make more.  He’s run through that clunky camera and two adult cameras, and is now making movies on his Nexus 7.

This weekend, he made a movie starring HIMSELF – as both Shane and Shane’s evil, telekinetic twin from a parallel universe.  The movie is called Parallel.  On the left side of the screen, he stars as “good” Shane.  On the right side of the screen he stars as “evil telekinetic twin.”  And he made the entire 10-minute drama without benefit of photo editing software.  Every few seconds, he would change from one outfit to the next, add or remove hair gel, and position himself on the appropriate side of the screen – so he appeared to be having a conversation with himself.  He made telekinesis seem real, with objects flying from one side of the screen into a character’s hand.  He even wrote and sang a song.  He had no help, on any of it.

The movie is very, very good.  He worked for hours (and days) making it, talking about it like a new best friend.  He has sincere, creative talent and incredible perseverance for a nine-year-old – or for any age.  When he finished, he ran downstairs and said, “I’m finished with Parallel!  Do you want to see it?”

And like any good mother I said, “Not right now.”

To be fair, I was in the middle of something – although I have no idea what – and I put him off until afterward.  Then his dad assigned him a job in the yard, so he did his job for awhile.  When he came back inside, out of breath and excited, he said, “Do you want to watch Parallel now?”

And I said, “Not right now.”  I was putting batteries in something, and was late to pick up dinner (since we were ordering out again).

And then, seeing the thin veil of disappointment cross his face, I kicked myself HARD and said, “Wait, yes, I can watch it now.”  I put the batteries in quickly, delayed the food pick-up (and dinner) and sat down on the couch with him, and we watched.  It was the best 10 minutes of the entire day.

And it was really good.  He has passion for this, and I’d like to find him a good software program for Christmas that would make his life easier.  I’d like to get him a class in filmmaking.  I’d like to give him STUFF to encourage his wonderful talent.

But mostly, next time he makes a movie, I want to drop everything I’m doing and say, “Yes, I’d love to watch your film!”  Because that’s what he needs more than anything in the whole, wide world.

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