In first grade, Mr. Lohr said my purple tepee wasn't realistic enough, that purple was no colour for a tent, that purple was a colour for people who died, that my drawing wasn't good enough to hang with the others. I walked back to my seat counting the swish-swish-swishes of my baggy corduroy trousers. With a black crayon, nightfall came to my purple tent in the middle of the afternoon.
In second grade, Mr. Barta said, "Draw anything." He didn't care what. I left my paper blank, and when he came around to my desk, my heart beat like a tom-tom. He touched my head with his big hand and in a soft voice said, "The snowfall. How clean and white and beautiful."
- Source Unknown
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