The injustices of a scorned childhood artist...

I can still picture it all so clearly.  It was 1981 and I was 7 years old and in the 1^st grade at St. Bernard’s Catholic School in Indiana, PA.  An aging building where the 1^st grade room was in the corner of the lower level (aka "Garden level").  I loved it there – wearing my daily uniform of blue plaid jumper, a white shirt and white knee socks that, on occasion, had snoopy on them.  I rocked those socks.

During the last month there was an open house planned for one evening.  Parents were invited to come in, tour the rooms, see all the things we had done through the year and visit with the teachers, etc.  As the youngest of 5 children, my parents were already on a first name basis with the teachers (and the principal thanks to the antics of my ever funny older brother Mark) but they were still coming to open house to see my classroom, my standard brown desk, etc.

To “decorate” the classroom our wonderful teacher, Mrs. Miltz, asked each child to draw a picture of their favorite tv show.  The drawing would then be taped together in a line and wrapped around what looked like the inside of 2 rolls of paper towels.  That would then be put into a box that had the cut out like a tv.  The parents could turn the rolls and the papers would scroll revealing scenes from our favorite shows.  It was pure brilliance.

I eagerly began to draw.  While the subject was not in question, everything had to be exactly right.  I carefully chose the right shades browns, black and grey.  I threw in an occasional green for color but was cautious to make sure the end result was a bit dreary.  I sketched it lightly in pencil first so that I could use my big pink eraser to correct any mistakes before the crayons took over.  I was focused, perhaps more focused than I had ever been, and when it was finished I knew exactly how Michelangelo felt upon completing the Sistine chapel.  I knew I had created a masterpiece that would be life changing to those who had the fortune to take in its reverent beauty.  I handed it in and with my head held high, took my metal Muppet Show lunchbox and headed to the gym/cafeteria/auditorium/library/all purpose meeting room across the hall.

Later that afternoon as all of my classmates were busy working on worksheets and, possibly, getting a little high from the fumes produced by the ink on the ditto machine copies. I heard Mrs. Miltz.

“Anne, can you please come up to my desk?”

She had the drawing in her hand.  Clearly she wanted to talk about my work of art and discuss hanging it in a place of honor in the classroom so it would not be overlooked sandwiched between amateur drawings of Tom & Jerry or Superfriends.

I approach.

“Anne, I cannot use this drawing in our display.  It is simply not appropriate.”

I agree.  It wouldn’t be fair or appropriate for the other kids to have their crude sketches be compared to my masterpiece. 

“Even if this IS your favorite show, I am going to need to you draw a show you SHOULD be watching.”    

Time out.  What did you just say!?  It is the show itself you have issue with?  I respond and try to explain my submission.

“But it IS my favorite show.  Look here (I point to the top and show her the word bubble coming from somewhere off screen) This is where the announcer is saying “LIVE FROM NEW YORK, IT IS SATURDAY NIGHT!”

She looks at me.

I take a breath

“And here, this is Eddie Murphy, and the way you can tell is because I drew his face black.  He is playing Mr. Robinson, which is sort of like Mr. Rogers and they both live in neighborhoods, but Mr. Robinsons doesn’t have a trolley." I point all these things out with my pink glitter painted fingernails.

In horror I realize perhaps she has never seen the show.

Mrs. Miltz smiles “Anne, I know what Saturday Night Live is, I just do not think it is a show a 1^st grader should be watching and therefore you will need to draw something else.”

I stand there dumbfounded.  After a few seconds to clear my head I ask.

“Can I keep it if I scratch out the “Bitch” part on the sign in the back next to where Eddie, um, Mr. Robinson is standing?  Because I realize that is swearing which breaks a commandment.”

“No, please redraw”

“Do you not like Mr. Robinson?  Because I can draw the Coneheads if you want although I don’t think they are as funny.”  

The wispy remains of hope are slipping through my fingers.  It is like trying to catch smoke in your hand.

She smiled even though her patience was beginning to fade.

“Anne, Saturday Night Live is not a children’s show and is on much too late.  Pick a different show.  Let me suggest the Electric Company or the Jetson’s?  Your classmates seem to like those.”

I stood there blinking.  Not willing to give up.

“Anne, please return to your desk.  You may use the remainder of the day to draw a new favorite show.  Here is another sheet of paper.”

I sulk slowly back to my desk.  I sat there for a few minutes staring at the new blank sheet in front of me.  Realizing all eyes are on me as my classmates have watched this showdown between me and the ignorant comedy - sketch hating teacher.

I refuse to draw the Electric Company.

It’s not my fault the other kids parent’s don’t appreciate the genius of Eddie Murphy.

I hate the Jetson’s. 

My mind swirls with childish images of Big Bird and Fred Flintstone.  Should I just give in and draw Laura Ingalls and Nellie Olson?

And then I remembered a show from the year before and knew I was being called to design a new masterpiece.  It was like the spirits of the great artists overtook me as my hands began to frantically sculpt a new creation.  The colors swirled together in a dazzling display of virtuoso and cleverness.  When I was finished I sat back and smiled, satisfied that while not my FAVORITE show, it was I believed a suitable compromise.

I sign my name and walk to the desk.  Mrs. Miltz smiles as I hand her the new drawing.

She looks down at the paper.

The smile fades from her lips.

Ironically, her skin becomes a color of red that I had just invented in my new creation.

She looks up and her eyes meet mine.  Her tone, both in voice and skin coloring, reflect an anger I had not experienced from her before.

“Anne, I cannot include this either.”

“But it was on during the daytime.  Right after school!!  Even the title says “After School Special” and I watched it after Kindergarten last year.”

My argument seemed to be falling on deaf ears.

“Ms McSorley.  You had 2 chances.  Your first drawing was highly inappropriate.  And your 2^nd choice of this “ABC After School Special – The Late Great Me!  The Story of a Teenage Alcoholic” isn’t any better.  Sit Down.”

“But, it was after school.  It was on before dinner.”

“Sit Down”

“But, if you …”

“Now, Ms. McSorley!  Take your seat.”

I again felt the stares of my classmates as I returned to my desk.  I slid into my chair at the same time I saw BOTH of my creations slide into her trashcan.  My art would not grace the walls of our room.  It would not be included in the spool of Flintstone and Scooby- Doo recreations.  It was heading to the local dump.

During open house I distracted my parents from the tv show display and rushed them through my classroom to avoid any prolonged conversations with the teacher.  They didn’t need to know I was improving my vocabulary through late night comedy shows or that I already knew the dangers of teen drinking thanks to ABC’s after school education.

At age 7 I had my first “rebellion” against a Catholic School teacher.  There would be more to follow before I graduated from Catholic High School in 1992.  However I was far from rebellious in the grand scheme of things.  I also had many incredible teachers along the way.  Perhaps my worst offense was refusing to go to Confession during religion class my Junior year.  My rationale, God knows if I am sorry so I don’t need to tell the priest.  Also, I couldn’t stand the teacher who subsequently gave me a D for the grading period in addition to a lecture as to why I am going to hell.  Needless to say she and I do not keep in touch.

But also at age 7 I developed a love for SNL that continued for many years.  I remember tuning in to see what might happen to Mr. Bill and being glued to the tv when Buckwheat was shot.   “I repeat, BUCKWHEAT HAS BEEN SHOT!!”  In high school Wayne’s World moved from the small screen to the big screen and It’s Pat inspired my Halloween costume during senior year.

SNL also brought us Dana Carvey, who created a character that has given me a lot to think about recently. 

That character?  The Church lady.

I will pick up my next post here and elaborate on how the nuances of the characters tag line “Well, isn’t that special” have influenced my outlook recently.

Until then, I think I will go try to find “The Late Great Me!  Story of a Teenage Alcoholic” on youtube.