I didn’t decide to be an artist. That’s like trying to remember when I decided to be a boy. I just was. I remember drawing before I started kindergarten. I remember standing before an easel in Mrs. Barnes’ kindergarten class, wearing a smock, painting. I wish I had that painting now. I wish I could hold that child, and assure him that everything was ok. I know where he is. What lay ahead of him is behind me now. I hold him and reassure him as best I can.