Happiness

My daughter and I spent a morning painting portraits of Albert, her teddy bear, who posed on the bed for hours without complaining, meeting our efforts with his indifferent stare. As an artist, I hadn't progressed since grade school, but she was only four and marveled at the confidence with which I sketched his shapeless limbs. What could be more thrilling than to possess a genius in her eyes for something at which I was clearly mediocre? In fifteen years I'd realize that her talent was vast, mine local. But "happiness" is what I still define as those days when all the gifts were mine.