Once a little boy went to school. One morning The teacher said: āToday we are going to make a picture.ā āGood!ā 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, āWait!ā āIt is not time to begin!ā And she waited until everyone looked ready. āNow,ā said the teacher, āWe are going to make flowers.ā āGood!ā thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said āWait!ā āAnd I will show you how.ā And it was red, with a green stem. āThere,ā said the teacher, āNow you may begin.ā
The little boy looked at his teacherās flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacherās But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacherās. It was red, with a green stem.
On another day The teacher said: āToday we are going to make something with clay.ā āGood!ā 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, āWait!ā āIt is not time to begin!ā And she waited until everyone looked ready. āNow,ā said the teacher, āWe are going to make a dish.ā āGood!ā 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 āWait!ā āAnd I will show you how.ā And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. āThere,ā said the teacher, āNow you may begin.ā
The little boy looked at the teacherās dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacherās But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacherās. 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 didnāt 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.
The teacher said: āToday we are going to make a picture.ā āGood!ā thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didnāt say anything. She just walked around the room.
When she came to the little boy She asked, āDonāt you want to make a picture?ā āYes,ā said the little boy. āWhat are we going to make?ā āI donāt know until you make it,ā said the teacher. āHow shall I make it?ā asked the little boy. āWhy, anyway you like,ā said the teacher. āAnd any color?ā asked the little boy. āAny color,ā said the teacher. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.
~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy
ā¦
I hate that I hesitated to reblog this just because I expect people to think itās pretentious or melodramatic when itās seriously real as fuck and Iāve witnessed it
Fuck man
My mom likes to refrence a story she read
About a guy who escaped North Korea
He said living there was like living in a pot
And he grew up there, so he grew into the shape of the pot
But once he was out
And the pot was gone
He was still in the shape of the pot
And he had to work really hard to grow outside that shape
I think its the same with alot of things
Art, gender presentation, decoration prefrences, food, hobbies
You forget what made you happy in favor of what kept you alive.
You forget what made
you happy in favor of
what kept you alive.
Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.
