I love art. I just hate art with kids. You might think that's a little weird since I'm an elementary school teacher. I teach art (sometimes) to my kids. I do. I just don't like it. With kids, I mean.
Oh, it's no secret. In fact, I tell them that right up front. "Kids," I say at the beginning of the first art project of the year, "I love art." Then I quickly follow it with, "I just hate art with kids." Then I talk to them about why I typically hate art with kids. They're noisy and chatty during art. It never fails. And I like calm, quiet rooms when I create.
They seem to get that concept. Many will even agree with me. But it doesn't change anything, really. Art with 30 eight year olds in one room is not calm.
All this being said, I'll never NOT do art. Not once I realized how important that exchange during art class can be.
It was the last week of school long ago. The kids had earned extra art time. (I called it "Mural Madness" so we wouldn't think of it as art.) Each student got a big paper and whatever coloring materials they needed to create their piece of the mural we'd put on our back wall. They were excited. We started creating.
I grabbed my supplies and sat down in an empty desk. A wonderful little girl I'll call "M" was sitting opposite me. We both got down to drawing.
M was a girl with attitude. Oh, it wasn't a bad attitude. It was spectacular! She was the very definition of pluck. She stood up for what she wanted. She didn't back away when things got tough. She was a giant force in a little bitty body.
We'd been working a little while on our drawings when she said something nice about my clouds. I thanked her and told her something nice about her flowers. We shared a few colors and continued working. When I added the sketch of the paintbrush into my clouds, M asked what I was doing.
I looked up at her and asked, "Do you want to hear a secret?" M nodded. I leaned in over my drawing and told her very quietly that my dad paints the clouds.
"My dad was super creative. He made art of all kinds. Now that he's passed on, I know he's been put to work! They wouldn't let his talent go to waste! Every morning when I look up at the sunrise, I say out loud, "Nice work, Dad!" Because I know he's up there painting the clouds."
M didn't even blink. She just nodded and said, "Of course he is."
I liked that. I liked her innocent validation of my feelings. I liked to think about him painting the clouds. But somehow her response made it so much more possible. I liked that.
We both kept drawing. A few other kids drifted over to show their drawings or to compliment our work. (Kids are like that. They say the nicest things!) And then we were just the two of us in a classroom filled with kids. That's when M said, "Do you want to hear a secret?"
I nodded and waited for her to begin. It didn't take long.
"I've never seen my dad before. I don't know what he looks like." She stopped just a fraction of a second - checking to see if I was still listening. I was. She continued, "Well, sometimes I make a picture in my head of what he probably looks like. He has hair the same color as mine but curly. He's got blue eyes. He's big and strong. And he's got a big smile."
She smiled at me then. And she added, "So when I see someone who looks like that - I'll know it's him."
I didn't blink. I nodded my agreement and said, "Of course you will!"
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