The Last Lecture

The Last Lecture
5
The Elevator in the Ranch House
M Y IMAGINATION was always pretty hard to contain, and halfway
through high school, I felt this urge to splash some of the thoughts
swirling in my head onto the walls of my childhood bedroom.
I asked my parents for permission.
“I want to paint things on my walls,” I said.
“Like what?” they asked.
“Things that matter to me,” I said. “Things I think will be cool.
You’ll see.”
That explanation was enough for my father. That’s what was
so great about him. He encouraged creativity just by smiling at you.
He loved to watch the spark of enthusiasm turn into fireworks.
And he understood me and my need to express myself in
unconventional ways. So he thought my wall-painting adventure
was a great idea.
My mother wasn’t so high on the whole escapade, but she
relented pretty quickly when she saw how excited I was. She also knew
Dad usually won out on these things. She might as well surrender
peacefully.
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