It has been suggested at times that I have had difficulty with authority. My first memory of that stems from art class in elementary school. Recall that we spent all day in the same room; the art teacher came to see us.
Her name was Mrs. Long. She was very tall, thin, a little severe as I recall, and did I mention that she was very tall? She towered above us.
The day I remember is one where she brought books containing pictures of dinosaurs. We were to make pencil drawings of dinosaurs. I found that interesting and thought it was a great idea.
The other part of her plan I didn't care for quite so much. We were supposed to take water paint, dribbling it onto the paper, and then blow it so it made lines across the drawing. I didn't want to do that because I was really happy with the dinosaur I had just drawn, and thought it would ruin it to pour paint on it like that. In a word, I said no. I refused to do it without considering the political ramifications.
This upset Mrs. Long because she thought I was being defiant. I don't think I had even a grasp of the concept of defiant at the time, I just knew fundamentally that I didn't want to ruin my drawing. I was really pleased with it.
Our conflict ran its course over a period of several minutes, at which point she marched me down to the main office and deposited me directly in the principal's office, where she proceeded to explain how I was not cooperating. He turned his chair around and began lecturing me about how I was both wrong *and* bad.
This is where life may have first gone wrong for me because I didn't relent. I said I like my drawing, I think it's real good, and I don't want to ruin it by pouring paint on it.
I don't remember exactly how the rest of the conversation went, but it ended up with me back in the room with Mrs. Long, pouring paint on my dinosaur at her direction. At that point I didn't care anymore.
I can't say that at that age I grasped the concept of idealism either, but that experience shattered something for me. After that I was not so sure that all teachers were kind and good.
Funny what we remember.
Her name was Mrs. Long. She was very tall, thin, a little severe as I recall, and did I mention that she was very tall? She towered above us.
The day I remember is one where she brought books containing pictures of dinosaurs. We were to make pencil drawings of dinosaurs. I found that interesting and thought it was a great idea.
The other part of her plan I didn't care for quite so much. We were supposed to take water paint, dribbling it onto the paper, and then blow it so it made lines across the drawing. I didn't want to do that because I was really happy with the dinosaur I had just drawn, and thought it would ruin it to pour paint on it like that. In a word, I said no. I refused to do it without considering the political ramifications.
This upset Mrs. Long because she thought I was being defiant. I don't think I had even a grasp of the concept of defiant at the time, I just knew fundamentally that I didn't want to ruin my drawing. I was really pleased with it.
Our conflict ran its course over a period of several minutes, at which point she marched me down to the main office and deposited me directly in the principal's office, where she proceeded to explain how I was not cooperating. He turned his chair around and began lecturing me about how I was both wrong *and* bad.
This is where life may have first gone wrong for me because I didn't relent. I said I like my drawing, I think it's real good, and I don't want to ruin it by pouring paint on it.
I don't remember exactly how the rest of the conversation went, but it ended up with me back in the room with Mrs. Long, pouring paint on my dinosaur at her direction. At that point I didn't care anymore.
I can't say that at that age I grasped the concept of idealism either, but that experience shattered something for me. After that I was not so sure that all teachers were kind and good.
Funny what we remember.
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