I spent the better part of last week teaching children how to draw a heart. Not the sticky, anatomically correct hearts and valve version, but rather the simple and sweet shape that is most familiar on playing cards. And Valentines. I gave them several ways to deal with the symmetry of the shape, offering to give examples wherever I could. But I drew a line when it came to drawing a heart for them to use on their card to their mom or dad or sister or whomever was about to receive this outward projection of their affections. It should come from them.
The happy news was that, to a one of them, they all understood this. Giving your heart to someone is a tenuous business at best, which may be why most of them chose to send their Valentine greeting to their parents. A few wanted to give their hearts to their classroom teacher, which seemed just a little more daring. And a few third grade boys even dared to inscribe the names of girls in their class. I didn't get to see if they had the courage to actually hand their card over to the girls whose names they had so carefully spelled.
That stage was taking place across town at my son's high school. Hearts were being shared and broken all week long. There was a flurry of breakups in the freshman class, one of which left my son's best friend on the skids without the possibility of parole. There was no way to tell him that there would be many more Valentine's Days in his future, with heartaches that would most certainly rival the one he was experiencing now. He will have to lean that just like the rest of us. Just like we learned to draw our first heart.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment