When I was very young (before I started school) I told my family that I had an especially good memory. I told them I could remember before I was even born, when I was just a little piece of lint who lived underneath the table in the hallway.
My memories of life as lint have long since faded, but I still have strong memories of my years in elementary school. In kindergarten, when art time was done, Miss Gustafson would play a few notes on her piano as a signal that it was time for music. All of the other students would put away their crayons and join her for singing. Except for me. I would keep drawing.
What made a big impression on me was that Miss Gustafson never scolded me for not following directions, the way that she might have scolded one of the other six Davids in my class. Instead she always allowed me to keep working on my drawings until I felt I was finished.
One time we were asked to draw a picture to represent the season of winter. The other students quickly finished their drawings and ran off to enjoy free time. I remained at my table, deep in concentration as I meticulously drew individual lights on a house decorated for Christmas. Another kindergardener looked at me and said, "You don't have to do all that work," then ran off to play with the giant wooden trucks.
His comment baffled me. Of course I had to do this. I was an artist. And thanks to Miss Gustafson, I already felt like one.
6 comments:
My, my, Tall Dave, you've grown from your little lint days!
How rare and wonderful to have a teacher who recognized, honored and encouraged your style of processing, instead of pushing conformity. I can see how this allowed you to flourish as an artist, but also to become a teacher who nurtured others' creativity and divergent ways of thinking.
I suspect you also had exceptional parents who saved this drawing for you! Very impressive detail
David, what a lovely lint story. I'm looking forward to hearing that at writing group in picture book form down the road. And three cheers for young David and wise Miss Gustafson who knew what was important.
Most of us probably had a special teacher like Miss Gustafson. Both my second grade teacher, Mrs. Daly, and my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Ormsby, recognized the writer in me, even before I did.
You, you and your art, are beautiful.
Sounds like you had the soul of an artist early. And thank heavens for teachers like Miss Gustafson. Sadly,I had Mrs. Slaughter. But that's another post...
David, I love this story and thank goodness for teachers like Mrs. Gustafson. I am going to have you illustrate my next winter book!
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