The last thing i was able to draw well was Garfield in the 2nd grade. I could sketch him like no one’s business. I remember it so vividly like it was yesterday. The smell of a number 2 pencil rolling over cream colored construction paper and the soft touch of my orange crayola crayon as I filled in the color between the lines. Garfield came to life!
Sadly I lost the ability when I saw another classmate suffer from a blunt force trauma to the head. My teacher hung a drawing of Garfield on the wall for all the kids to see and admire. The picture was so real and life-like that a curly blond hair kid ran into the wall screaming "Garfield!!!" as he tried to hug him. He hit the wall with such extreme force that the Garfield drawing made a large permanent impression into the side of his baby soft-like head. As he lay on the floor crying in pain he looked up into my blue eyes, and cried out louder. “Why? Why God? Why?” I could not bare to see the look of sadness and horror.
After the shock of seeing his injury I vowed to never hurt another living soul again with my drawings. I realized that day how powerful and provocative one picture could be in the eyes of my fellow man. So I put the pencil into a sticker covered art box and walked away from it with tears still wet from rolling over my pasty white cheeks.
Years later the memories of this tragedy would resurface as I was a pimple faced teen trying to express my creativity upon a world of composed mostly of ones and zeros. In order to combat the horrible feeling of remorse in my gut I took up poetry and writing.
To this day I look back on my first and last love; Garfield.
Sadly I lost the ability when I saw another classmate suffer from a blunt force trauma to the head. My teacher hung a drawing of Garfield on the wall for all the kids to see and admire. The picture was so real and life-like that a curly blond hair kid ran into the wall screaming "Garfield!!!" as he tried to hug him. He hit the wall with such extreme force that the Garfield drawing made a large permanent impression into the side of his baby soft-like head. As he lay on the floor crying in pain he looked up into my blue eyes, and cried out louder. “Why? Why God? Why?” I could not bare to see the look of sadness and horror.
After the shock of seeing his injury I vowed to never hurt another living soul again with my drawings. I realized that day how powerful and provocative one picture could be in the eyes of my fellow man. So I put the pencil into a sticker covered art box and walked away from it with tears still wet from rolling over my pasty white cheeks.
Years later the memories of this tragedy would resurface as I was a pimple faced teen trying to express my creativity upon a world of composed mostly of ones and zeros. In order to combat the horrible feeling of remorse in my gut I took up poetry and writing.
To this day I look back on my first and last love; Garfield.
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