Back to School Sales

Wait, isn’t it still summertime? Doesn’t matter . . . back to school sales are in full swing. Because I don’t have school age children, I usually don’t pay attention to the sales—until this year.

When I was eight years old I took a drawing class at the local city park. I don’t remember if I asked my Mother if I could sign up or she saw a budding young artist that she wanted to encourage. Most likely she just needed a break from my incessant talking. Regardless the experience had a major impact on me.

The medium for the class was pastel sticks or crayons. We sat outside at a picnic table drawing and learning to blend colors with the edge of our fingers. After I finished my drawing, the teacher carefully sprayed it with a coating to prevent the color from rubbing off. I proudly showed off my drawing to Mom and anyone else who would look at it. That picture is long gone, but the good memories remain. I believe it is important to give kids the tools to be creative. Unfortunately, many school districts are cutting art classes. Promoting creativity is a passion of mine.

So I asked a teacher if her students needed art supplies. She said they absolutely do. Many of her students do not have drawing materials to bring to school. She also said that her students think of art as a reward for doing their homework and are eager to help another student.

Now I had a reason to go to the store for the big Back-To-School Sales. I filled my cart full of 25 cent items like glue, crayons, rulers and other art supplies. I barely spent ten dollars and got all kinds of tools for artists to start creating their own masterpieces.

I am reminded of a poem The Little Boy written by Helen Buckley in 1961 that made an impression on me about the importance of allowing kids to be creative. Back to school sales now signify something different to me—it is about developing passionate young Picasso’s.

In Giving,

Robin  

The Little Boy
by Helen Buckley

Once a little boy went to school.
He was quite a little boy
And it was quite a big school.
But when the little boy
Found that he could go to his room
By walking right in from the door outside
He was happy;
And the school did not seem
Quite so big anymore.
One morning
When the little boy had been in school awhile,
The teacher said:
"Today we are going to make a picture."
"Good!" thought the little boy.
He liked to make all kinds;
Lions and tigers,
Chickens and cows,
Trains and boats;
And he took out his box of crayons
And began to draw.

But the teacher said, "Wait!"
"It is not time to begin!"
And she waited until everyone looked ready.
"Now," said the teacher,
"We are going to make flowers."
"Good!" thought the little boy,
He liked to make beautiful ones
With his pink and orange and blue crayons.
But the teacher said "Wait!"
"And I will show you how."
And it was red, with a green stem.
"There," said the teacher,
"Now you may begin."

The little boy looked at his teacher's flower
Then he looked at his own flower.
He liked his flower better than the teacher's
But he did not say this.
He just turned his paper over,
And made a flower like the teacher's.
It was red, with a green stem.

On another day
When the little boy had opened
The door from the outside all by himself,
The teacher said:
"Today we are going to make something with clay."
"Good!" thought the little boy;
He liked clay.
He could make all kinds of things with clay:
Snakes and snowmen,
Elephants and mice,
Cars and trucks
And he began to pull and pinch
His ball of clay.

But the teacher said, "Wait!"
"It is not time to begin!"
And she waited until everyone looked ready.
"Now," said the teacher,
"We are going to make a dish."
"Good!" thought the little boy,
He liked to make dishes.
And he began to make some
That were all shapes and sizes.

But the teacher said "Wait!"
"And I will show you how."
And she showed everyone how to make
One deep dish.
"There," said the teacher,
"Now you may begin."

The little boy looked at the teacher's dish;
Then he looked at his own.
He liked his better than the teacher's
But he did not say this.
He just rolled his clay into a big ball again
And made a dish like the teacher's.
It was a deep dish.

And pretty soon
The little boy learned to wait,
And to watch
And to make things just like the teacher.
And pretty soon
He didn't make things of his own anymore.

Then it happened
That the little boy and his family
Moved to another house,
In another city,
And the little boy
Had to go to another school.
This school was even bigger
Than the other one.
And there was no door from the outside
Into his room.
He had to go up some big steps
And walk down a long hall
To get to his room.
And the very first day
He was there,
The teacher said:
"Today we are going to make a picture."
"Good!" thought the little boy.
And he waited for the teacher
To tell what to do.
But the teacher didn't say anything.
She just walked around the room.

When she came to the little boy
She asked, "Don't you want to make a picture?"
"Yes," said the little boy.
"What are we going to make?"
"I don't know until you make it," said the teacher.
"How shall I make it?" asked the little boy.
"Why, anyway you like," said the teacher.
"And any color?" asked the little boy.
"Any color," said the teacher.
"If everyone made the same picture,
And used the same colors,
How would I know who made what,
And which was which?"
"I don't know," said the little boy.
And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.