I Was A Child Once And Young

New Work

This is what I've been up to at the studio:





In progress: Two mugs with a calavera astronaut theme, requested by a woman whose daughter works for NASA.

Two more ollas, finished with a low-fire clear glaze:





The Christmas Story

Every year, the local hippie-dippy co-op where we do most of our grocery shopping has a giving tree where they hang paper ornaments for children and young adults currently in programs with YDI, Youth Development, Inc. (I was going to link to their website, but they have a shitty website). On the ornaments are gift requests and we often pick up a couple to buy gifts for. This year, we picked up gift requests for two four year olds, one girl and one boy. The girl wanted a "soft baby doll" and the boy wanted cars, a soccer ball and a winter coat. We got the girl a little doll in a baby carrier, a coloring book, and some Play-Dough with animal cookie cutters. The boy got a pack of small cars, a Nerf soccer ball, a coloring book, and a Mickey Mouse-themed winter coat. Some of the gifts were wrapped at the toy store (Out of the Blue, an awesome shop based across the street from the hippie-dippy co-op) where we bought them, but some of them we brought home to wrap ourselves.

I'm not sure how to describe what happened as we wrapped the gifts, but I began to feel horrible, a dissociative,  I'm about to come down with the worst flu I've ever had in my life kind of feeling. But it wasn't that I was getting sick. Instead I got trapped in this awful childhood memory of attending a kind of party like the one that is held for the children who get such gifts.

I was five, in Head Start, and we went to a high school where the high school students were having a party for us. We, the kindergarteners, were supposed to get in some kind of circle in the center of the room where the high school kids were supposed to come and chose us to give their gifts to and take care of us for the duration of the party.

Ugh.

When the high school students swooped in and picked their kids, I was the only child not chosen by anyone. Yes, it was that awful.

You can see what an awful, hideous child I was in kindergarten:



I felt embarrassed and humiliated, being the only one standing there until the teachers made a group of students come over and take charge of me.

My toy turned out to be a doll, similar to the one we bought for the little girl.

The high schoolers were supposed to spend $20 on the gift, but mine must have cost less, because there was a $5 bill taped to the doll box. I showed it to one of the high school students and he said, "Oh, that's mine," and he took it from me and put it in his pocket. One of the girls said, "That's mean." And they laughed.

Merry Christmas.

News

My mother texts that my father, who I haven't spoken to in twenty-four years, has throat cancer and is receiving radiation therapy.

Merry Christmas.