Do Not Get Out of the Car

Long viridian shadows stretch out across dew covered lawns. Sunflowers are lifting their heads in search of the warming rays of the sun. Dads are sipping coffee at red lights, as kids, still in bed, plan their day. Summer jobs cutting lawns and afternoons swimming at the stone quarry, seeing will dive off the high tower and who will climb back down.  

Tom, the park policeman, unlocks the Eastside gates to Fabyan Park. He opens all the gates to all parks that line the Fox Valley. “Painting or drawing today?” he inquired, waving me into the park. Passing the weather beaten statue of Chief Black, I take my parking spot facing the river in front of the climbing tree, as I call them. More horizontal than vertical, it's perfect for joggers and runners to rest on, who I then sketch. Mothers pushing strollers move to one side to let the runners trying to keep fit pass by. I’ve got a handful of peanuts for the squirrels, dropped out the window, and some corn for the ducks. My back up models in case people don't come. Sometimes the squirrel waits at the wrong blue van, takes him a minute to realize it before he scampers over to me. 

My mind gets its workout as I sketch a young lady in her early twenties. She arrived with four boys, all about ten. She is in a light cream colored business suit, baiting fishing hooks with large nightcrawlers she pulls from a coffee can. Not the ideal outfit for baiting hooks. As I sketch them I imagine a story for them. 

My student arrives at the same time a bus load of kids arrives. I invite my student, Grace, in and explain we have to draw from inside my van. It's part of my lesson, I tell Grace, but she insists on getting out to draw. Within minutes we are surrounded by kids asking questions and wanting us to draw them. I drew them as a demonstration for Grace.       

It did not end there. The next day at the park a policeman knocked on my window and asked for my phone number. That afternoon I got a call from one of the kids I had drawn. She wanted me to do a painting of her brother.  The next day that policeman was parked  in front of her house, waving to me as I walked up to the front door. This ten year old invited me in, leaving the door open. Then came her story. Her brother, a student at the airforce academy  was driving home for a visit when he was killed by a drunk woman as he was helping another woman change a tire. When the family went to make arrangements to bring him home, their house burnt down and they lost everything. Only two wallet size pictures remain of him. She wanted me to do his portrait from those small, worn photos as a gift for her mom.

So, do not get out of the car to draw kids. Yes I did the portrait, and no I did not charge her.      

My Reward

Drying the dinner dishes and putting all of them away was followed by homework time. When summer came, Mom and Dad had their own ideas of what homework was. The March Of Dimes was Mom's way of introducing us to the neighbors. I didn't know what the March of Dimes was, only that Mom took me and Francis around the neighborhood asking for money. Some gave just a dime while some gave a dollar. Most knew Francis already. I was new to this so Mom made me introduce myself and shake everyones hand.

Dad took me with him when the Knights of Columbus gave Tootsie Rolls away to people who dropped coins into a can. Again, I shook hands with people and told them my name, handing them a Tootsie Roll. I think this was a way of Mom and Dad knowing what us kids were up when we were out on our own… They were always getting calls from people letting them know what I had done that day that I shouldn't have. Like cutting through people's yards and helping myself to Mr. Miller's cherries, or Mrs. Mattes grapes. Mom would send us kids to apologize and we would have to offer to do chores, like sweep Mr. Swares sidewalk.

Sometimes we had to do things for people who we hadn't even done anything to. Mr. Toadas was one, he was born with a body that didn't work right. Many times I had to put my cowboys away, to carry Mr. Toadas' groceries home for him. My Red Flyer Wagon came in handy for a lot of those things Mom volunteered us kids for. Dad tried to explain why we had to return the dimes people gave us kids for those things we did for them, and then why it was okay for Mom to go door to door asking for dimes.

Mom loved to explain how doing things for others is a good thing. Mom always told us how much better we felt after doing such things. I always felt hot and tired, or freezing cold shoveling snow for someone at five in the morning before school... What I did feel good about afterward though was hitting Maurie Misner. He was a bully who picked on Francis and me. I didn't win that fight, it just felt good hitting him. The phone call came and mom sent me down to his house to apologize and shake his hand. Dad didn't let Mom see him smile when she told him I was fighting.

Mom taught me how to treat other people. Dad taught me how to treat my tools. I clean my brushes every night when I finish painting and do the best I can with every painting . There is a look in people's eyes that is a reward for me when they see my work, even when they are not going to buy. That is what Mom and Dad taught was my reward.