Remembering what I loved as a Kid: Painting

A friend was in my apartment and complimented me on this charcoal sketch I have in my room.  Rather nonchalantley I answered, "Oh that, I did it back in high school."

I could have told him that I had had a third nipple that I had gotten removed to see the look on his face.  "No way, since when are you at all artistic?" was the response I got.

I guess being all businessy all the time gives off a vibe that outside of math I have no passions.  

His surprise grated on me.  I went out and bought pencils and sketched away alone one Saturday, and threw all my efforts away at the end of the day.  They were nowhere near the level of skill that was on my bedroom wall.  My moderate scorning self practically spat on my efforts.

I was annoyed that I had let 5 years of hard practice dwindle into five years away from even a doodle.  

I needed instruction so after thinking about it for yet another 3 months, I convinced some friends to take a painting class with me one Sunday evening.  

The instructor stood up in front of us, and gave us a few rudimentary places to start.  And then I picked up my brush, and forgot where I was-and remembered where I belong. 

It was the same feeling I have on a really good run, the place where my brain goes on auto-pilot, just knowing what to do. Silent.  

When I was done, it was not a work of art, but it was a good start after a five year hiatus,  

I signed up for a semester of paint classes at the college.  And I don't even care about the grade.  Well, maybe a little.

What did you love as a kid that you've forgotten?