Day Off

It was one of the rare days in school where you do not have to listen to the teacher lecture, or read, or do work.  It was an afternoon of paints, plain craft paper, colored pencils and brushes.  Perhaps it was Fourth grade, no, it must have been Third grade when the teacher asked the class to create a picture.

I knew at once what picture I wanted to create…the first thing that came to my mind.  We had this great view in our dining room.  Considering it was a split-level tract home – which I’ve never thought split-levels to offer the best floor plan – it had a view for miles from the dining room.  I could see all the way to Mt. Hood from our dining room.  You could see Mt. Hood from nearly everywhere in our town thanks to its elevation.  I loved that mountain and looking at its splendor everyday.  It’s the only mountain in the U.S. that has snow year-round.

I can still see the classroom from that day the way the flourescent lights had to work extra hard on account of the overcast skies outside.  The room was a buzz with energy from us kids working away on our own.

The whole class ooh-ed and awed over one student (I can’t remember her name – how about I call her Sue) drew a most perfectly beautiful picture of a doll.  Sue had drawn a doll wearing a dress that looked just-so everyone including me was admiring her picture.  The teacher I believe, was the most impressed with her drawing.  Standing at her desk proclaiming how marvelous a picture she had drawn.  There was no denying it was a well-drawn picture of a doll.

When the teacher came to me she looked at my picture and asked, What is it a picture of?

I was so astonished it took me a second to respond – It’s Mt. Hood, I said completely deflated.  See the snow-capped mountain peaks and the trees on the mountain?!  The teacher looked at my painting with a blank look.  I imagined she preferred the pretty doll drawing.

That afternoon must have been just before winter break.  I handed in my painting with resignation.  My painting of Mt. Hood and the afternoon gone from my mind as it was made clear to me how unimpressive I was.

“Here you go”, my teacher said indifferently as she handed me back my painting that had now been framed.

It was the last day of school.  I was so surprised to see my painting again, as well as, how much it seemed my teacher did not want to give me my painting.  I think I must have said something along the lines of, What is it?

Well, it’s your picture you painted.  The frame shop choose your painting from the class.  It’s been hanging up in their shop all this time, didn’t you know?!

How could I have possibly known I’ve always wondered.

All these years later I still have my painting hanging on my wall as a reminder that even when your entire class – including yourself –  thinks someone else is better, it was my painting that was chosen.

It was only my painting that was chosen.