HOLD THE CRANBERRIES - Remember when you were in First Grade, and it was probably right around this time of year that you learned how to draw the hand turkey? For some, it may have been Kindergarten, but regardless, the experience was the same. Your teacher handed out paper and crayons, and told you to just simply trace the shape of your hand and color it in and it would be magically transformed into a turkey. No, surely this cannot be true? you thought to yourself. That is not possible. This is sheer madness! But it was true. You did exactly as she instructed, and the result was just as she had described. It happened. Right before your very eyes. The magnificent hand turkey. In full technicolor. And you could not wait to take it home to show your mom, because there was no way she could have ever seen anything so beautiful. Such creative genius. Your five siblings before you could not possibly have ventured into such cutting edge artistic territory as this. No way. The rest of the school day dragged, as you anticipated unveiling your masterpiece to your mom. It was as if you were waiting to show it at some gallery in New York. Several times during the course of the afternoon, you would pull the drawing out of its folder, to look at it again, just to make sure you hadnt dreamed it. And there it was, just as beautiful as you had imagined. The bus ride home took forever. You sat in silence, clutching your book bag tightly to your chest, not daring to mention your Rembrandt to the other kids on the bus. In their incredulity, they would certainly demand to see it, and that was far too risky. It could be damaged. So you stared straight ahead stoically, as the bus chugged on. And then finally, you were home. You rushed in, and requested that your mom sit down at the kitchen table. This was something that should not be seen for the first time standing up. Fainting was a distinct possibility, and the last thing you wanted was to cause your mom to fall and hit her head as a result of your art. Your masterpiece. And as you slowly removed the drawing from the safety of the book bag, and your mom laid eyes on it, she gasped, the exact reaction you had anticipated. She was amazed. Flabbergasted. She hugged you, held it up and looked again, and then ultimately posted the picture on the fridge, where all could see your work. Your sense of accomplishment almost causing your heart to burst out of your chest. And it was glorious. And as you sit and think about that on this Monday morning, you ponder how such a simple act as that turkey hand drawing, could have caused you such joy. Such pride. Why does that event seem so important, so seminal, and so wonderful? Why is it etched so deeply in your brain and even thinking about it makes you feel so warm inside to this very day? Why? Because it was your mom. And she loved you.
Posted on: Mon, 17 Nov 2014 15:18:23 +0000
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