Wasted Talent

WASTED TALENT

    He was only eleven years old, but he already had a pretty good idea of what he wanted to be when he grew up: an artist.

    His parents, however, weren’t very keen on his ambition. They tried to discourage him, telling him he was wasting his time and there wasn’t any money in being an artist. They tried to persuade him to become something else, anything else, but no matter how hard they tried, the young man was determined to make his dream come true.

    His art teacher was a fair lady, but she didn’t really have much faith in his talents, and he was barely passing her class. So he was understandably nervous when the end of the school year came around and she informed her students of their final exam.

    “Now class,” she said, “for your final exam I have something a little different for you. Since you’ve seen my face every school day for the last year, I’d like you all to paint a portrait of me tonight from memory alone. But this isn’t a contest, and there will be no winner. I just want to see how much you’ve improved. And remember, this will count toward half of your final grade for the semester.”

    The young man ran straight home and spent all night painting his heart out with hopes of impressing his teacher. And when he was finished, he thought it was the best he’d ever done.

    But the next morning as the teacher walked around the class inspecting her student’s work, his dreams were unexpectedly shattered when she looked at his canvas.

    “Is that the best you can do?” she said, shaking her head. “Perhaps you should try your hand at something else, Mr. da Vinci. That woman doesn’t look anything like me.”