Tuesday Afternoon

9x12 Oil

Every time I begin a new painting I am always excited and inspired. I have a clean canvas that reels me in and asks me to make it come alive with color and light. And oh how I want to do just that. It’s a daunting request, for sure. And I know that what I see in my mind will not be what I will eventually see on the canvas. But however a painting turns out, it will be something I have created. It will be a piece of me, it will hold a place in my life history.

But as with every dream I’ve ever had, bringing something that doesn’t yet exist to life is not always easy. Not for me, and not for most dreamers.

And certainly not for Daniel, a boy with a real hunger for learning.

In 2004, I got a note from a fifth grade teacher. I’ll call him Mr. Brown, since I can’t remember his name, but I do remember that he was a top-notch educator. Anyway, Mr. Brown’s class had just finished reading Under the Blood-Red Sun, and since he discovered by the book jacket that I lived in the same town, he wondered if I would be willing to come visit with his students, none of whom had ever met an author. He couldn’t pay me much, but the school may be able to come up with a small honorarium.

Forget the money, I said, I’d be pleased to do it for nothing.

As is almost always the case, my time with Mr. Brown’s fifth graders was exceptional. The conversation, the wide eyes, the eagerness to ask questions, the freshness of youth — all of it was inspiring to me. It was an honor, too, to be in a classroom guided by a teacher who sincerely cared about his students, and about their education.

After my hour was up, and the students had all surged out for recess, I stayed a bit longer to chat with Mr. Brown. I was curious about one of the boys. During my talk I’d mentioned my book, Lord of the Deep, and told them it was about a boy trying to navigate tough ethical issues with his step-father. When I’d said “step-father,” this boy instantly became all ears. I could see it in the way his eyes were riveted on me, and in the way he sat, taller, and straighter. Mr. Brown asked which boy I was referring to, and I pointed to his desk.

“Ah, Daniel,” Mr. Brown said. “He’s a bright boy, and he has the potential to be a very good student. But his home life is … difficult”

Mr. Brown went on to tell me that Daniel had recently spent one entire recess under his desk, weeping. His mom and step-father were splitting up, and they’d asked Daniel to decide who he wanted to live with, his aunt or his grandmother. It took me a second to grasp the gravity of that question. Aunt or grandmother, not mom or dad or step-dad. Jeez!

Daniel ended up living with his step-father, a guy who wasn’t particularly tough on Daniel, but he was clearly emotionally absent.

Soon Daniel started showing up to school late, sometimes very late. Mr. Brown asked him what the problem was, and Daniel shrugged. His step-father didn’t wake him up, he said.

Mr. Brown said he and Daniel had a talk about maybe Daniel having to take on the responsibility of getting himself up in time for school, rather than relying on someone else, that sometimes you just had to figure things out on your own.

Daniel said he thought he could do that, and to help him out, Mr. Brown bought him an alarm clock and showed him how to use it. For a couple of weeks Daniel showed up on time. Problem solved. Daniel was proud of himself, and Mr. Brown was proud of him, too.

By the third week, however, Daniel started showing up late again, and he was almost always tired.

What’s up, Mr. Brown asked? You had this problem beat.

Daniel’s answer? “My step-father broke my alarm clock, because it woke him up.”

Today, years later, I often wonder where Daniel is. What kind of life has he made for himself? How does one survive in a tough world with few, if any, strong models, and with little or no support at home?

I guess it all depends on what we are made of, what’s inside of us, our strengths and weaknesses.

We are what we are. We have the will to succeed or we don’t.

What will I do when someone breaks my painting alarm clock? Will I have the strength to see negative criticism for what it is? Or will my weaknesses cause me to lay down my brush and give up?

We shall see.