L started an art class a couple weeks ago at a local paint-your-own pottery shop. The instructor has been wonderful, teaching L about drawing, sculpting and painting through hands-on projects.
In the first class, he drew a landscape. She taught him about depth and the horizon, how to paint from light to dark, and how to draw a tree. He drew his landscape on a ceramic pencil holder, then painted it. We returned the following week to see the final result after she fired it in the kiln.
L was so proud of his creation. He couldn’t wait to show his Dad when we got home and he rushed out of the car and up the stairs. As I was getting C out of her car seat, I heard a clunk above my head. I froze for a moment, waiting to hear the wailing, then I proceeded upstairs.
L was standing at the top of the stairs. I can’t even explain the look on his face. I have seen him angry. I have seen him rebellious. I have seen him hurt and sad. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen him heartbroken.
The pencil holder had slipped from his hands and broken. I hugged him. Then he ran away, hid in a pile of pillows and cried softly. I winced, recalling times in my life when something really disappointing has happened to me. I picked up the pieces and realized the damage wasn’t all that bad, so I superglued it back together. There are still some gaps and cracks, but you can turn them to the back and they aren’t that noticeable.
Still, he’ll never look at it quite the same again. What should induce nothing but feelings of pride and happiness will now also bring up feelings of sadness. Unfortunately, the heart can’t be superglued.
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His heart was broken within a safe environment. It is hard, but it sounds like he recognizes that bad things happen. Good job mom!
He did a great job with pencil holder.
What a beautiful post! Love the title. It is so hard to see that kind of disappointment on our kids’ faces. You did a nice thing in trying to make it better.
Your story reminds me of one of my own. When my youngest son was three, I attended a gourd art class. I spent four hours learning how to burn, carve, paint and seal a gourd. When I returned home and showed off my masterpiece, my son was so taken with it, he asked if he could hold it. I consented, unaware of how fragile a dried, hollowed out, carved gourd could be. A few minutes later, I heard my son crying inconsolably. He’d accidentally crushed the fragile area of the gourd where I had made the cutouts. Although I was a bit disappointed that my piece of art would never claim a place in my display cabinet, I had the opportunity to hold my son, kiss his pudgy fingers and tell him that he was way more important than some dried-out gourd.
Oh the poor little guy, I feel for him!
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