We had a school project on dragons. Oh my! How we studied them. I may have loved them for a time even more than dinosaurs, but it didn't last long. When you are rock crazy, dinosaurs are fossils, which are rocks. Dragons are mythical creatures which are concepts - perversions of something which might have been real. There is nothing tangible about them, unless you draw them, and my third grade teacher informed Mother that my handwriting was poor, and I can't draw. I believed her. The reason I believed her is because I gave her my authority without question. I wanted to please her. It didn't stop me from trying, and I still draw pretty much the same way. Don't get me wrong. I ooze creativity. But I still draw like I'm in grade school.
A friend of mine about whom I am absolutely crazy in the best ways has challenged me to overcome this, and I probably will. Just because he inspires me. He reminds me of who I really am. He makes me want to be better in every way. That is a powerful thing, and quite rare in friends. So pretty soon I will point that gift I have that decides to do something without a second thought, and fix whatever is wrong that makes me not draw, and I just will. I no longer give anyone my authority without question, and that is why anything is possible with me. It is an important thing to know, no matter who you are.
So while I sucked at drawing, I wrote quite well. Here is my third grade limerick about a dragon, It was so amusing, they published it in the school book of dragons:
There once was a dragon named Rick
He made people utterly sick
He'd barf on their dresses
And make great big messes
And pick his big nose with a stick
No, Mother was not pleased (well, maybe secretly she was, but she never told me).
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