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An Uncertain FutureNov 03 '01 (Updated Nov 04 '01) Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line To provide a means to the child's education, I invented different ways of preparing Top-Ramen, fooling the mind into thinking I was consuming something that didn't taste like cardboard
However unfortunate these events will turn out to be, I regret to share this heartbreaking story with you. You see, back in the spring of '98, during one of my early morning trots through the local park here in La Verne, I encountered a very special lad, not a day over the age of six. What was remarkable was the fact that this child had been there doodling on some leaflets which demonstrated a mind-numbing artistic talent. This boy's life has never ceased to touch me since that fateful day. The child, Pierre, lived near the park in a crippled and aging apartment, with his mother, who was, and still is, an assistant manager at McDonald's. Along with his mother, there resides Pierre's nine siblings, with him being the youngest. Father's whereabouts are quite unknown I'm afraid, perhaps still in France, where the rest of Pierre's family immigrated from. What I saw that day were drawings of such incredible sophistication for a boy of his age, that frankly, I felt compelled to sit down and compose myself for a few moments. Sketchings of birds with vivid textures and contours, renderings of various other wayward animals like rats and even humans, all executed with an acute understanding of shape, form, and the essence of line. This boy, I thought, had the talent to become the embodiment of the 21st Century artist, much in the way that Picasso had embodied the 20th. In the months that followed, I would spend time with this lad when I encountered him on my daily jogging path. I would bring him colored pencils, paper and sometimes even paints or a Snickers bar. In return he would squeal in delight and thank me. I had some thoughts of maybe instructing this boy, for if you've read my previous writings, would know that I have a love for Koch. But in my mind, I knew there was nothing I could teach this boy, for such an attempt would be to serve his talent an injustice. On every encounter I remarked at how his skill had flourished in equal increments with his potential. It seems the child was left to draw all day while his mother was tending to the populous' need for Big Macs. I began to think of the Pierre's education. A child of his talent would require proper yet undoubtedly expensive art instruction. His mother's hourly wages would leave no room for such an idea. Indeed, I began setting aside money from every paycheck with the hope that when the child comes of age, he could in fact attend a prestigious art school. But that was not to be so. During the fall of '99, while the lad, his mother, and his nine siblings were crossing the street, a man with a revoked license and a fondness for whiskey pummeled Pierre, ending his life in an instant. I had not the heart to attend his funeral, for it was too much to bear. What was to be his tuition has been spent to mine lone consolation- booze. I cherish his memory by looking at drawings he had given me. It is true, the profile picture of me you see was in fact drawn by Pierre at the age of seven. Accurate in every detail down to the inimitable grey headband and a pose exuding manliness. It was, and is, my favorite drawing the lad has given me. I fondly share it with you in his memory.  |
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