Six Word Memoirs on Life Stories

Backstory

Although many of my classmates looked forward to art class, I dreaded it. When I was in grade school, art class consisted of drawing—just drawing. And I was not a good drawer. My people were “stick” people; my trees looked like “stick” people on drugs. Toward the end of 8th grade, I handed in an art project for which I got my only “excellent.” It was an abstract drawing—just a jumble of shapes of varying colors. And I gave my piece of art, my artwork, a name—“Indecision.”

Since then I’ve learned that creativity comes in many forms, but this tiny morsel of positive feedback lifted my self-esteem all those years ago and allowed me to believe that I might in fact, be “creative.” So, for decades that piece of paper has been living with me, reminding me that I am a person with a creative mind and spirit. And for the past 15 years it’s been lying on the desk in my “work” room upstairs. Last week, as if commandeered by an unseen force, I grabbed a frame, put a piece of old blue card stock paper behind the drawing and framed that long ago art project. It’s going to live on my wall now for all to see.