As a child, I enjoyed drawing and creating art, but a negative experience in seventh grade traumatized me. I once arrived late to art because I had stayed after science class to help my teacher clean up the materials from an experiment. The classroom door was locked, so I politely knocked. My vicious teacher answered the door, refused to listen to my excuse, then proceeded to tell me that I wasn’t allowed to come inside as she slammed the door in my face.
As a quiet 13 year old with a clean record, I was unsure of what to do. I retreated back to my science teacher and burst into tears upon describing the situation to him in a quivering voice. Without hesitation, he dragged me back to art class and banged on the door, demanding that my teacher let me in.
The entire situation mortified me; I dreaded each and every art class from then on. In a quest to regain my artistic confidence, my mom signed me up for an art camp that summer. Little did I know that the “camp” was being held in the basement of a creepy old woman’s house. Pottery pieces and works of art lined every wall, the area was dimly lit, and her cats were roaming the floor. I swear I cursed my mom under my breath for the entire first hour of the session.
The four other students were boys—I would have thought that they were cute, had they not been several years younger than me and socially awkward. The last hour of the session was spent sitting outside in the woman’s garden that was littered with fairies and gnomes. I’m not kidding. We were to meditate and draw an inanimate object inspired by our surroundings. I think I drew a rock. Needless to say, I refused to go to camp the following day.
In high school, I only took a required art history class. I never was one to doodle in my notebook and I essentially have stayed away from drawing of any sort since middle school. However, while I was nannying this evening, something came across me and I had the sudden urge to draw.
With the past behind me (I’m only slightly bitter), I became entranced with my picture of The Grinch. I’m embarrassed to admit that I came home and finished coloring it.
My family was convinced that I traced it, given the fact that no one seemed to realize that I can draw. Granted, it’s no Monet painting, but it was still fun for a quick sketch.
I also have another hidden talent: I’m really good at gift wrapping. Each year, I am hired by a family to do their Christmas wrapping—I get obsessive over perfectly crisp corners and perfectly-tied bows.
Speaking of wrapping, I need to get a few presents under the tree!
Do you have any hidden talents or any talents that you don’t put to use?
Has a negative experience ever affected you long-term?
Do you enjoy gift wrapping?