When I Tried to Teach My Son to Be a Professional Painter (and Failed Miserably)

So, here's the thing. I thought I could teach my son how to be a professional painter. You know, impart some life skills, teach him a trade, and maybe have a nice bonding moment along the way. What could possibly go wrong? Well, let me tell you, it turns out that raising a pint-sized Picasso in the world of paint and brushes is a bit more chaotic than I imagined.

1. The Great Prep Battle

I started with the basics. You know, prep work. Because if there’s one thing you learn in painting, it’s that prep work is everything. Cleaning the surfaces, taping off edges, and making sure everything is smooth. My son was so ready for this, and honestly, I was feeling pretty good about it.

I handed him the painter’s tape, a few brushes, and showed him how to carefully apply the tape around the window trim. “This is where the magic happens,” I said, pointing to the perfectly taped edge. He nodded solemnly, as though he was about to conquer the world of interior painting.

What happened next was, well, a tragedy.

He slapped the tape onto the wall with all the finesse of a toddler trying to wrap a present for the first time. It was crooked. It was peeling in some places. It looked like a bad abstract painting—and not in a good way. I asked, “What are you doing?” and he looked at me, dead serious, and said, “I’m just giving the wall some freedom.”

It turns out, his definition of prep work is “throwing things at the wall and seeing what sticks.” This was not the masterpiece I envisioned.

2. Paintbrush Training: More Like Chaos on a Stick

Okay, fine. We moved on to the next step: actual painting. Surely, I thought, he could handle a paintbrush. I’ve watched him manage a paintbrush in art class, and he could draw a stick figure like a pro. This would be easy.

I handed him the brush. He swished it around a few times like a wizard casting a spell and then, with the precision of a wild animal trying to escape captivity, started flinging paint all over the place. The wall? Sure, he got some paint on it. The floor? Well, let’s just say that everything was now a shade of off-white. And I’m pretty sure the cat was trying to blend in with the newly painted floor because it was covered in so much paint.

At one point, he dipped the brush in the can and came out with what could only be described as half a gallon of paint on it. I stopped him just before he dunked it in again. “No! You don’t need that much paint!” I said, trying not to cry.

“I’m just making it extra thick,” he replied, as if we were painting a wall to withstand the apocalypse.

Spoiler alert: the wall didn’t need that much paint, and I’m still scraping paint off the baseboards.

3. The Roller Incident

Ah, the roller. The tool of choice for covering large areas quickly and efficiently. It’s simple, right? You just roll, and the wall gets covered. I showed him how to dip the roller into the tray and roll it out evenly. I demonstrated on a small section, feeling confident that he would easily replicate my perfect technique.

What happened next was something straight out of a slapstick comedy.

Instead of gently rolling the paint onto the wall, he wound up like a cartoon character winding up for a punch. Then, with all the grace of a bull in a china shop, he hurled the roller at the wall. It splattered everywhere—across the wall, on the ceiling, and, of course, all over the floor. The roller? It somehow managed to fling paint in a perfect circle around him, as though he were in some sort of paint-induced tornado.

I stared, dumbfounded, as he looked at me and said, “It’s like modern art, right?”

At that moment, I realized that I may have accidentally unleashed a future abstract expressionist.

4. The “But I’m Helping” Moment

By now, it was clear that the painting lesson was not going as planned. My son had successfully covered everything in paint except for the actual wall we were trying to paint. The room looked like it had been hit by a paint bomb. I took a deep breath and tried to bring things back to normal.

“I think it’s time for a break,” I said, trying to salvage some sanity.

He looked at me with wide eyes. “But I’m helping!”

And that, my friends, is when I realized: maybe he wasn’t meant to be a professional painter. Maybe he was meant to be the world’s most enthusiastic amateur.

5. Lessons Learned (And The Realization I’m Not Ready for a Paint Job)

At the end of the day, the walls were still covered in paint—but not in a way I’d show off to guests. We had more paint on our clothes than on the walls, and the whole experience felt like I’d tried to teach a cat how to dance. In theory, it could work, but in practice? It’s a mess.

But despite the chaos, I learned something important: Parenting is like painting. There’s a lot of prep work, some mistakes are made along the way, and at the end of it all, there might be more paint on you than on the actual project. And maybe that’s okay.

Maybe my son won’t be the next Picasso of the painting world. Or maybe he will—after all, modern art is about expression.

So, as for his future career as a professional painter? Well, let's just say, he’s got a future in abstract painting and a lot of cleaning up to do. As for me? I’m going to need a bigger paintbrush. And a lot more patience.