On my left on the faux-wood and hunched over a 12×18 sheet of newsprint paper is my five year old son. In his left hand is one of those rubber-gripped pens that banks use as giveaways and strewn about (yet within reach) are various crayons. That’s where he usually scribbles away but today is different: silence, no story…just concentration.

“What are you drawing, Sy?” I felt like I had just stomped into a church and shouted “howdy!”
“Puke.”

“What?”

“I’m drawing puke. In my mouth.” Almost waving me off.

I continue watching, amazed at each stroke of detail, each toss of a crayon in his search for the right color and each subsequent reserved filling. He’s had reflux issues his whole life and seems to have inherited my wife’s migraines so Puke has been a part of him for a while. “The kid draws what he knows.” said The Greek when I told him. So the idea that he’s drawing Puke in His mouth is funny but it also makes me say to myself: he really thinks about this stuff.

The art is abstract (like most five year old representative art) but, when he seemed to step back and allow me back into his circle, I had to get down there with him. He began explaining each part of the drawing and I pulled out my stickies to take notes.