But I digress. This post is about the giant Bono head on my buffet. Or actually, about the girl who painted it, Erinna, my 15-year-old stepdaughter. She did it in school and framed it and gave it to us as an early Christmas gift (because she couldn't figure out how to hide it, plus she is so not good at keeping secrets).
Her art class was studying composition and shadowing. She had to chose a photograph that has shadows on a face. She chose my favorite Bono photograph, not because she shares my love but because she could not find a shadowy photo of Peter Petrelli for the project. After choosing a photo, they enlarged it, transferred it to a grid and then made color choices and recreated it.
Do you not LOVE my giant Bono head on my buffet? I love it mightily. She just gave it to us the day before Thanksgiving, which is why it is on the buffet leaning on the mirror. I'm not sure where to hang it, but it will have a place of honor.
Erinna is one of those kids who can do just about anything, and if it is something she actually WANTS to do, she does it well. Like really, really well. Piano? She's masterful. But she quit. It was boring. Soccer? She was tough and fast, though kind of small. But she has left soccer behind for tennis now. And tennis? She is absolutely wicked.
When I was 15, I was completely unsupervised. I was born and raised in New Orleans and my parents' attitude toward child-rearing was laissez faire, at best. I was not a good kid. But I was a good schemer and faker and my parents assumed that because I rarely got caught doing anything illegal or amoral, that I was a good kid. But really, I was just good at not getting caught (most of the time).
Erinna is a good kid. And she is parented half to death. She has two full sets of parents. Tim and I have been married for pushing 11 years, so I've had her since she was in preschool. And her mom has been married for the last five or six years to a man that she has known/been with on and off since Erinna was a baby.
And we are all in her business, 24/7, in a way that has got to be borderline unbearable. Imagine your parents at their snoopiest, nosiest, most intrusive... then multiply it by two. Then have the four of them sit down for cocktails and plot your future. That's her life, in a nutshell. Yet she handles it unbelievably well.
So that's the story of the Bono head on my buffet and the artiste behind it. I can't even tell you how much I love that painting. It is, like, one of the best gifts of all time. It is seriously awesome. I've already attempted to commission several other works, to start a shadowy gallery (picture Johnny Depp in yellows and oranges?) but I was informed, "It was homework," as in "Why would I do more work if I don't have to. Talent? What talent? I can't really paint."
Oy, that girl.