In kindergarten, we were introduced to tempera paint. The intention was to craft together a Mothers' Day, or possibly a Fathers' Day, project. I am reminded of this assignment every time I see a "turkey hand". It utilizes the same basic concept but, instead of hand templates, we used our tiny mitts to create imprints onto construction paper. Included with the artwork was a generic limerick the teacher, most likely, thought would transcend the masterpiece into greater sentimental proportions. As she recites the poem, I am sobbing in the back of the classroom.
Sometimes you get discouraged because I am so small. And always leave my fingerprints on furniture and walls. But everyday I'm growing, I'll be grown up someday. And all these tiny hand prints will simply fade away. So here's a final hand print just so you can recall... exactly how my fingers looked when I was very small.
It's embarrassing, now, seeing how innocent the poem reads. However, to a ridiculously overly sensitive five-year-old, my world was shattered. The teacher further explained: this was meant to be a memento for our parents after we grew up and left our household. I was devastated, it was a lot of information to take in. I worried as I wondered who would take care of my parents when I did move far, far away.
Truly upset, I remember taking the horrible keepsake home and hiding it. My logic was that I wouldn't have to move out if they never received the present. The inevitable finally approached, days later, after Mom had attended a parent/teacher conference. She arrived home and prodded me to show her what I had done in school since the teacher had mentioned our arts and crafts activity. I was reluctant. If I knew how to curse a name under my breath, at that time, I sure would have that very moment. Digging out a crumpled paper, I hesitantly relinquish my design, and burst into tears.
Laughing at my over-dramatic display, she attempts to calm me down. As I blubber to my heart's content, I declare all my fears and irrationalities. I didn't want to go away because I associated that with never speaking to Mom and Dad ever again. I never wanted to grow older, I'm just a kid! She consoles me and comforts me with her words. My mind will change one day and I will readily venture out on my own, however, I will have always have a place at home.
I am thankful for that.
