by MK Bashlor

Created on: July 12, 2008   Last Updated: July 13, 2008

In Mrs. Soli's 7th grade art class I sat alone in a room full of children seated at tables with other children - a loaner, though only 13 years of age. Perhaps my separateness was due to fear, maybe it was simply the prevailing inclination that no one really liked me, first taught to me at home, and then projected into my other social realities. But when it was time to draw our charcoal pictures, I was inspired. I drew a silhouette of a cat. She was looking over a beautiful colorful horizon. I thought it was one of the most gorgeous things I had ever created.

The following day the teacher had each of our pictures taped up to the blackboard on the back wall. She proceeded to go through the rows one at a time, stating which pictures would be invited to be on display for "Parent's Day" the following evening. When she got to my row I clenched and crossed my fingers as she nonchalantly called out, "The cat." I had a joy in my soul greater than any child in that moment. Here I was, unable to connect with my classmates, without a friend in the world, and all but invisible to the teacher. But my cat picture would be on display for all the parents, and children of other classes, to see. My own mom would not care when I told her, but for a moment I had a grand irrevocable value due to my artistic contribution. I felt a pride beyond words. Suddenly, from a table full children I heard a girl call out, "Mrs. Soli, which cat?" "The fluorescent cat" she proclaimed as if we all should have known. The girls at that table expressed their excitement with screeches and hugs, oblivious to the sadness of the owner of that other cat picture; the girl who sat alone everyday, and went home to a place where she was even more alone.

The other girl did not need her picture to be in the show. She had friends and a family. This was icing on the cake for her. Her parents would be so proud. I left that day with even less of a connection than before my cat silhouette was created. The thing which had succeeded in making me feel worthwhile; had connected me for a moment; had lifted me up and put my 13 year old supposed creative genius on display, was just an illusion. I was alone still and this was one more example. No one wanted what I had to offer. In this world I had no place.

Yet one thing gave me hope; I thought my cat picture was beautiful. I never for a moment thought that it was not the very best of all the pictures on the blackboard that afternoon in Mrs. Soli's classroom. I am sure the other children's parents would not have had the capacity to appreciate such great artwork anyway. What could have been expressed by the teacher, had she cared about my feelings that day, I developed in my own parent-self; the ability to call everything from within me something beautiful. It has always made sense to me that beauty is in the eye of the one beholding. I eventually learned to love and reverence that atypical beauty which I carried around in myself, whether other people agreed with me or not.

Learn more about this author, MK Bashlor.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.