The assignment was to make a self-portrait.
Even in kindergarten, I recognized it as the art project of a lifetime.
I was an artist.
I was unique.
This would combine both those crucial elements in epic fashion.
I surveyed the elements.
Construction paper, magic markers, googly eyes, yarn.
I selected my paper color of choice. Purple. Always. I cut a piece of pale pink paper into an oval and pasted it on top.
I studied my blank face.
Grabbing a bold black marker, I began with my eyes. Almond-shaped. Then my nose. I remembered how my grandfather taught me to draw a nose on the back of a napkin once. How it should be spaced in relation to the eyebrows. Eyebrows. I tried to get the arch just right. Ears. You couldn't really see my ears. They were covered by my hair.
Hair.
My hair was my opportunity.
I looked around the class as everyone glued brown or black or yellow or red yarn to either side of their construction paper heads. None of those options were right. I had "dirty blonde" hair. Part brown, part blonde. That's what my mom said.
I set to work.
I carefully glued one piece of yellow yarn next to one piece of brown yarn and then repeated, altering the colors on either side. I paid close attention to where I placed the glue, making sure that it dried out of sight.
The teacher announced that it was time for recess. When we got back, we would hang our portraits on the wall for everyone to see.
I ran out of class, proud, excited. Certain mine would be the most original, the best.
I bounded toward the jungle gym, easily climbed to the top and swung my legs over the bar. Then I threw my body backwards until my dirty blonde hair practically swept the ground.
As I dangled upside-down, I pictured my self-portrait amongst the others.
I imagined the sea of sameness and then I found mine.
I grew uneasy.
The hair didn't look like my hair at all. It looked... weird.
I had tried too hard. It was obvious.
I remained separate from the other kids, my head swimming with uncertainty.
The teacher signaled the end of recess and I dragged my heels back indoors.
I was embarrassed.
No longer looking forward to showing off my work.
It started back in kindergarten with the creation of my self-portrait.
The yearning to be different.
Coupled with the fear of standing out.
Who taught me that?
This post was inspired by the RemembeRED memoir prompt to write about a memory of kindergarten. Thank you to Kelly from Dances With Chaos who convinced me to post it.
