“Kathy, this is SICK! Sick, sick, SICK!!”
My fourth grade teacher was hovering over my desk, waving one of my drawings around. She was very, very upset. My drawings had once again proved a distraction to the class.
I wish I still had the drawing that had caused her so much distress. I do remember it quite clearly. I had drawn a woman in a yellow bathing suit, carefully coloring it in with those crappy colored pencils they provided to Appalachian children in whom no one had any hope for success. Nonetheless, I did my best.
You see, I had a business to run, and quality of product matters to me.
I had discovered I could get a quarter a piece from the boys in my class for my drawings of well-endowed girls . At the time the teacher was freaking out about my shameless exploitation of women, this budding feminist had $7.50 in her burgundy corduroys. Exploitation of women, indeed.
Quietly, I bore the storm. I would not rat out Robbie Perkins, the boy who had already paid for the drawing, and specified the yellow bathing suit. I had a crush on Robbie. I wasn’t blonde, tan and cute like you were supposed to be then. I resembled a bird skeleton, with long, dark hair and skin often referred to as “fishbelly white”. But Robbie liked my drawings, and while I was drawing, he lost interest in Adeline Blakely’s sparkly blue eyes. It drove her mad, and I loved that. I hope she developed a skill. 🙂
So I let Mrs. H get it all out of her system. I kept quiet. And kept at it. And it still pays.
I came across two tiny drawings from that period in my life, and I thought you’d get a kick out of the kind of “sickness” I was producing as a pre-adolescent. Thanks, Mrs. H. You sure straightened me out.