Cee Cee And Jim

It was just about dinner-time when my grand-daughter Daisy asked if she could walk down the street. She said she'd be gone for only a few minutes. She noticed a few children playing, and she wanted to meet them. They were Cee-Cee and Jim, and they live in a small brown rental house on the corner.

Daisy checks in every fifteen minutes, so when she came back from playing with Cee-Cee and Jim, she said she wanted to go back because she was the judge of their drawing contest. The children were inside the house with paper and pencils, drawing, and waiting for her return.

Now Cee Cee was an ambitious little sport, drawing a house, many flowers, a tree, and the sun. For all her four years she had figured that her drawing would surely win, and she held it timidly in front of Daisy.

But, there was this matter of an older brother, who had two additional years of practice. When she looked over at his drawing, her face saddened. She looked down at her work, and pressed it against her chest. It didn't seem so great anymore. She felt disappointed. She thought Jim's drawing was so much better.

She looked up at Jim while Daisy was judging his drawing. He was beaming, so proud of his work. I asked him if I could take a picture of the artists and their drawings, and he instantly held his drawing high, very high, so that it almost filled up the image in my camera!

When Daisy asked Cee Cee to hold up her drawing, Cee Cee hesitated. She saw how great Jim's drawing was, and now her flowers did not seem so bold. The house needed repairs. The tree looked lopsided, and that sun should have been much, much, bigger and brighter. Daisy told Cee Cee not to feel discouraged. "Just look how pretty your flowers are!" Cee Cee wasn't yielding to flattery, and Daisy was getting impatient.

Being the judge, Daisy took both drawings, held them up, and and said, "Grandma, take a picture!" Jim was quite proud, but little Cee Cee could not find merit in her work. She twisted her hands in doubt, regardless of our enthusiasm. Her little face showed all her anguish. Cee Cee's mother came out with a new baby in her arms, and gave a quick smile. She enjoyed seeing the photos I took of the children, and then motioned to them to come into the house for dinner. Jim galloped up the stairs, and Cee Cee stood there on the sidewalk and watched Daisy and I walk home. She held her drawing to her chest, looked at it one last time, and waved goodbye.

Now, if those children had used markers, so the images were more clear, you would see that Jim's drawing was mostly scribble, done hurridly, and without much thought. His lines were vibrant and fluid, spontaneous, and without accurate shape. Cee Cee's drawing was more deliberate, more carefully rendered, showing considerable skill for a four year old.

I hope these children get abundant encouragement, and feel free to explore and create. I'd like to see a smile on Cee Cee, a wide happy joy. We never realize how our creative work is a celebration. One cannot put judgments on it. It has a life beyond our singular intentions and our puny assessments. It is using us as an instrument. Who knows where the music goes, or who listens. Somewhere, someone is paying attention.