The First Thanksgiving

In fifth grade we had to do paintings of the First Thanksgiving.  Of course it was all about Pilgrims and Indians and turkeys.  These illustrations were your standard tempera paints on manilla paper stuff.  Well, at one point I accidentally dripped some flesh-colored paint on the end of a Pilgrim's boot.  It looked funny so I made it his toe and added a flap of boot that his toe had broke through.  I was so amused, I painted an arrow  sticking out of his hat.  For some reason, that painting disappeared.

Well about three months later I got my first baby-sitting assignment.  My Mom was called in to discuss my "problem." At that time my brother was about a month old.  Mom, a Registered Nurse, would come home from working the midnight shift in the emergency room at Edgewater Hospital and my Dad would go off to work downtown.  This particular morning she had to stop off at school first to discuss my problem with the school psychologist.  My Dad could (or maybe would) not stay home with my baby Brother until she got home, so I had to watch him.

When my Mom got there, they pulled out the painting.  Apparently my teacher and the administrators at Stone School were disturbed by what I thought was just a funny work of art.  They also told her about my drawings of tornados and flaming car crashes (I watched a lot of Speed Racer in those days). Bleary-eyed from being awake for almost 12 hours, her response was something like, "YOU HAD ME COME IN HERE FOR THIS?!!"

They already had put together an extended program of psychological evaluation and treatment and needed her signature to get started. She stormed out of the meeting and came home.

I went to school late that day and was scolded by the teacher, who knew I was going to be late and why.  I was in trouble anyway.