Tuesday, August 28, 2007

~Untitled 13.5 by Comrade Kevin~


Amy's cubicle is graced by all of the usual suspects: crudely finger painted works of art created by her three-year-old. We all have to endure being introduced to them for the eight millionth time.


Perhaps if and when I have children, I will do the same thing. As for right now, I fail to see why they're so special. I produced some variation of the same when I was that age. I took no particular regard in doing a good job--I just wanted to finish another activity before being set free to climb up the tire swing on the playground.


After Mom died, I found all of my childhood drawings in the bottom of the china drawer, under the the good silverware. She had kept every single one. The bottom of the drawer was littered with the remains of glitter that had fallen off of one of the paper plates supposed to represent some religious icon.


***What a wonder, the way the brain can connect my cubicle with a touching childhood memory.***

1 comment:

Comrade Kevin said...

Amy's cubicle is graced by all of the usual suspects: crudely finger painted works of art created by her three-year-old. We all have to endure being introduced to them for the eight millionth time.

Perhaps if and when I have children, I will do the same thing. As for right now, I fail to see why they're so special. I produced some variation of the same when I was that age. I took no particular regard in doing a good job--I just wanted to finish another activity before being set free to climb up the tire swing on the playground.

After Mom died, I found all of my childhood drawings in the bottom of the china drawer, under the the good silverware. She had kept every single one. The bottom of the drawer was littered with the remains of glitter that had fallen off of one of the paper plates supposed to represent some religious icon.