I try not to pigeonhole my children. Certainly, I imagine that they will be doctors, lawyers, engineers, perhaps the President of the United States. I am their mother. I can tell you with certainty that they rank far above average, show uncanny brilliance, and will be successful in anything they attempt. That is my job.
My first born, particularly, might as well be Mozart as far as I am concerned. Just ask me. Much to my surprise, he received a guitar from his loving grandparents for Christmas. Yes, he has asked for a guitar in the past, but I have not passed this information on to anyone. I have made it clear to him that he must master the piano before taking on another musical instrument. (I know, what a mean parent).
So, when my young musical prodigy received a guitar, he immediately recalled that his piano teacher also gives instruction in guitar. He plays his guitar all the time. He walks around the house strumming it, sometimes picking out parts of a tune. He insisted on bringing his guitar to piano lesson.
“But Mom, he teaches guitar, he can teach me how to play this. Right now it sounds beautiful, but I can barely play a song on it.”
He ran into the family room to grab the guitar on his way out the door. He keeps it very carefully in the box it came in. It is a very special item. He carried it carefully out the door.
In a similar manner, my first-born son convinced me to enroll him in Spanish lessons just last week. How do you say no to a child who desperately wants to learn a foreign language?
So, my first-born son, walking quickly-but-carefully into the Arts Center for his guitar/piano lesson, confessed his plan.
“Mom, just think, we can go to Mexico and I’ll get a job playing guitar in a restaurant!”
Oh, and why is his name Ranchero Venezuela?
For the same reason that Sally, I mean Gladys, is Fonsero Venezuela.
I am sure it is all in the plan. Sometimes, they even tell their mother.