My mom, God rest her soul, saw the fire in my eyes and though we didn't have a lot of money at the time, let me buy over $100 worth of stuff. And the ride home was quiet, deadly quiet. I exhibited the intense focus of a crackfiend hoarding over all my ill-gotten gain as we drove home. Before the car even got into the driveway my door was open and I was off, racing for the door.
I slaved over the paint table for hours and hours and hours every day, after finishing my homework. And my miniatures were terrible. But my mother, she always saw the brilliance in my work, and the fire in my soul to get better, and praised me. And when I didn't paint miniatures, I got into set design and terrain building. And I remember the one time I found out I could use a hot glue gun to make slime by painting it neon green when it was dry, and made a little set out of posterboard, cut drinking straws, and slime... I took it up to the bedroom and showed her, and she said:
"That looks like a Hollywood set. You are incredible! You need to make things for movies!"