Hey guys! Sorry I’m late (again). I’ve now missed two posts in the span of three days. I feel pretty bad about it–I haven’t been feeling well lately, kind of dizzy, which just makes me want to curl up on a couch and go to bed early instead of staying up late writing. Oh well…now I owe you two double headers!! I know I promised you one by today, but…they’re coming, I promise.

In the meantime, here’s a bit of old material that I think would do just fine on Father’s Day. Happy (belated) Father’s Day everybody!


‘Drawing Daddy’


The assignment was to “draw your daddy.” They sat us down at those big round tables on the side of the room nearest the windows and gave us all big clean white papers. They put a pile of different colored markers in the center of the tables. When they reached my table, there was a mad rush to get the best marker—hands flying everywhere, small children screaming in pain when they got slapped out of the way by someone stronger, and disappointment when they weren’t fast enough to grab the marker of their choice before someone else whisked it away.

Luckily for me, however, in the mad rush, a black marker had rolled its way quietly over to where I sat. I reached for it and uncapped it…and didn’t know where to begin. Draw my daddy…how do I do something like that? What a huge, monumental task. How does one draw one’s daddy?

Of course, I was sitting next to Victoria. Victoria was my best friend in preschool. She told me what to do all the time and she had already had her ears pierced. She wore little ruby earrings every single day. We always played together. I looked at her paper now to see what I should do. She had already drawn a huge square on her paper.

I drew a huge, lopsided square on my paper.

I threw the black marker into the nonexistent pile in the middle of the table, where it was whisked up immediately. I spied a dark green marker, and grabbed it up before anyone else could take it.

Noses are dark green, I decided. But how does one draw a nose? I leaned over and asked Victoria, speaking loudly over the din of the other students.

“How do you draw a nose?” I said.

“Like this!” she snapped, and promptly drew a nose: it consisted of a dot and a line going down from the dot, placed directly in the middle of the square.

I drew a dark green nose: it consisted of a dot and a line going down from the dot, placed in the middle of the square.

Now, what’s next…ears! I knew that ears and noses are the same color, but how in the world does one draw ears? I peeked over at Victoria’s paper. She had drawn big blobs on the sides of her square.

I drew big blobs on the sides of my square.

I replaced my green marker with a red one as soon as one became available. I began to draw the mouth at the very bottom of the square.

“No!” Victoria screamed. “That’s not how you draw a mouth!”

I stopped immediately. “What’s wrong?” I asked, astonished and more than a little worried. What if I got this all wrong? Would I have to do it over again? Would my daddy not like me anymore?

“THIS,” Victoria ordered, “is how you draw a mouth.” On hers, she drew a straight line at the bottom of her square.

“Oh…” I thought, but my daddy smiles…But I thought that it was better to do it right. If that’s the way Victoria says to draw a mouth, then that’s just how I’ll have to draw my daddy’s mouth.

Slowly I made a straight red line at the bottom of my square.

It was lopsided. I would never be as good as Victoria. I sighed.

Now, my daddy has very curly black hair. But alas—there were no black markers! They were all being used. I grew extremely worried. What if, after all this, I still messed up my picture? This was the most important thing I had ever done, and so much depended on me getting that black marker. I needed to have that black marker more than anything else in the world. I noticed Victoria was using a black marker.

“C-can I p-please use that black marker you’re using when you’re done?” I asked her quietly.

“No!” she continued using it like nothing had happened.

Why not? I was bewildered. I had even said please. Did she understand how much I needed that marker? I began to cry.

“Stop crying!” Victoria snapped.

“B-But I need…I need that black marker NOW!” I bawled. The teacher came over finally and asked me what the problem was.

“Sh-she…won’t…g-give…me…her…black…m-marker!” I blubbered, pointing at Victoria, who kept on working as though nothing was happening.

The teacher rolled her eyes and said, “Use a different marker, sweetie,” and walked away.

I stared down at my paper, forlorn. I should have known better than to ask something of Victoria.

“Use a different marker” was lost in translation and somehow became “use another color.” I noticed that I was still clutching the red marker I had used to make the mouth. I was no longer worried about messing up the picture: what was the point in trying now? I was never, never ever, going to get this picture right. My daddy would never, never ever, like me again. I was never, never ever, going to get that black marker. I may as well use the red for the hair as well. It was running out of ink anyway.

I placed the red marker on the top of my square and began to draw—one curly line, another curly line, another—

There! I saw it! A black marker, lying in the middle of the table for anyone to snatch. With a shout of glee and triumph I cast aside my red failure and seized the black prize. The black marker, too, was running out of ink, but I set about salvaging my picture. There was hope after all—maybe if I drew enough black curls they would block out the red altogether and my daddy would like me because I drew him right.

But alas, it was not to be. Almost immediately the teacher called out, “Okay everybody, markers in! Let’s clean up!”

I stopped dead in my tracks. Impossible! That is not enough time to draw my daddy! Especially after all I went through! No. I decided to keep drawing. I kept drawing those curls, line after curly line, with a will, ignoring the clatter as everyone else at my table threw in their markers. Finally I was forced to give up when the teacher came by and demanded my marker.

We all waited patiently while the teacher and her assistant came around and gave everyone a pair of googly eyes and some glue. My googly eyes slid around in too much glue, and I got it all over my fingers.

We left them out to dry on the tables, and headed on to the next activity, in which we all gathered and sat on the pink carpet in the center of the room. A long time ago Victoria and I had had a vicious argument on the proper pronunciation of the word “pink”, but that was long over and now I listened to Victoria prattle on about how beautiful her picture was and how she just couldn’t wait to show her daddy.

“I just know he’ll love it!” she gushed.

“Yeah…I hope my daddy likes mine,” I said, but I knew he wouldn’t.



This is all true, by the way. We still have the picture hanging up in our family room.

Still not sure how my dad feels about it…