This is a college admissions essay written by one of Mom's neighbors

When I was twelve years old, I sometimes baby-sat a five year old pair of twins, named Harry and George, who lived down my street. They lived in the top of a duplex

with their mother, and their grandmother, Georganne, lived below. She was a painter, and one day when I was baby-sitting, she offered us some paint and several canvasses in an attempt to occupy the twins for more than five minutes. I, being a twelve year old boy, painted a knight in armor standing in front of a castle on top of a mountain. I was so proud of my work that I showed Georganne my painting before I went home.

Several days later my mother received a phone call from Georganne, who was wondering if I would be at all interested in learning how to paint that summer. I was hesitant, but my mother and father, who is an artist himself, decided that it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. So I began going over to Georganne's house for private painting lessons several times a week.

We painted in her dining room which doubled as a studio. The room was lit by the summer sun shining through a full picture window which took up almost the whole east wall. Georganne was always dressed in the same paint covered jeans and smock, and always had an ice cold coca cola ready for me when I arrived for a lesson. When we were painting, I would often find myself looking at Georganne's work which covered the walls, searching for inspiration as I told her, but really trying my best to make mine look like hers. Georganne always discouraged me from doing this though, and told me I had to find myself as an artist to be proud of what I made.

Throughout the summer I did dozens of paintings with Georganne, her artistic influence on me becoming more and more apparent with each new canvass. She taught me watercolor, drip painting, contrast, form, and color, her life's passion; and I took in as much of it as I could.

Several years ago, Georganne was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. Her daughter eventually had to quit her job and become a full time care provider for her, and I do not think she paints anymore. As far as I know Georganne never shared her knowledge of painting with anyone else. The idea that all that's left of that amazing passion is what's inside of me is sometimes intimidating, but I'm glad I have it, and I wouldn't want to change that summer for the world. Georganne still says hello to me on the street, but its often followed by "I can't remember your name.", and I think back to the summer years ago and tell her, "That's okay, because I remember yours."

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