Adam had always lived in a cramped space.  As a child, his parents, looking at his distressingly small and undecorated room, decided that he needed an escape from the confines of this small world.  They gave him a whiteboard and a small box of dry erase markers and told him to use it as his “window on the world.”  Adam, being a rambunctious six-year-old, tended to use it more as a smorgasbord of his own creation.  He drew massive T-Rexes, clenching two or three markers at once in his small fist to create a multi-color mess.  He also drew superheroes, baseball players, and most of all, his dream job: rock n’ roll star/astronaut and part-time velociraptor trainer.

His mother, concerned that her child did not seem to understand the point of the whiteboard, sat on the cold grey carpet and motioned for Adam to sit by her side.  She then carefully separated the whiteboard from the wall and placed it in her lap.  In large broad strokes, she erased the masterfully doodled rockstar/astronaut riding a velociraptor, and carefully placed a cool blue marker on the board.  In calm strokes, she dashed a small scene onto the whiteboard.  The whiteboard became a window that looked out on a large open field, a small tree, and a little river.  Adam’s mother carefully pointed to each aspect of the board and explained how they reflected how she felt.  Adam just sat wide eyed staring at the gleaming sky, with storm clouds at the back of the horizon.  Being six years old, he was amazed by his mother’s ability to so accurately create this scene (although most would insist the picture was closer to cartoon-like).  She did the same the next week.  And the next.  And the Next, until she was sitting on the carpet every week, drawing her world in a new way.  Some weeks, there would be flowers and trees.  Others there would be dark clouds and lightning storms.

One night, when Adam had just turned seven, and his whiteboard was a carefully drawn rendition of a cake in the rain, his father peeked in through the doorway, illuminating a sliver of light onto his head.  He then carefully glided over to Adam’s bed resting his hand on his shoulder to gently wake him.  He leaned into his ear and told him that he was leaving, but that he’d see him soon.  Being seven, he gently nodded his head, and let his heavy eyelids return him to the realm of sleep, not knowing if what just happened was a dream or reality.  The next morning, Adam’s mother returned to create the world outside his window.

This time, the harsh bags under her eyes reflected the hues of blue and black that were splattered across the board.  Horrible flashes of yellow roared like thunder and lightning.  After finishing this dark masterpiece, she carefully lifted it, remarked how bleak it was, and placed it on the wall.  Adam’s mother turned to him and promised that they’d redo it when she was “less busy.” But suddenly, Mom was always busy.  He spent hours.  Then days.  Then weeks, and eventually a whole month carefully pleading with his mother to help him redraw his window, but the response was always the same.  “Not now, I’m busy.”

Finally, after being seven for almost ten whole months, Adam carefully removed the window and redrew the picture himself.  Outside was a lush meadow, with sheep and a small stream.  This time he separated the clouds and drew a small rainbow spanning the distance. Adam then carefully rehung the whiteboard, and pouted, realizing that his almost-eight-year-old artistic abilities were nowhere near his mother’s.  Removing his whiteboard, he marched into his Mom’s bedroom, whiteboard in arm, and sat down next to her.  He neatly placed the new drawing into her lap and watched as she glanced down at the window.  Thick wells of tears then filled up her eyes as she turned to Adam and said “Ok. Let’s draw your new window!”