It’s Just a Sketch

His pencil flew across the page as Mark looked up and down between his notebook and his teacher. He was sketching her while she read a textbook to the class. He sketched the desk she was standing behind and even the smart board behind her. He loved to sketch, even though he knew he wasn’t good. But that didn’t stop him, he just made sure no one saw them. He was always careful to hide his drawings, mostly in his math book, since his math teacher only made them  use it at home, he knew he wouldn’t have to open it in front of anyone. 

The bell rang. He stuffed his artwork into his math book and dashed to his locker. On the way, Frank, his best friend, caught up to him in the hall.

“What a bore! Mrs. Vital has to be the most boring teaching in school. I mean, reading for over thirty minutes. That’s bad enough. But to read about different kinds of trees. Can there be a more boring thing to read about?” Frank was always like this, but Mark liked his energy.

“Probably not.” Mark answered while opening his locker.

“Probably not! You mean definitely not.” Frank opened his locker, which was right next to Mark's.

“Yeah, that’s what I meant.” Mark agreed with a little smile that he made sure Frank couldn’t see. He admired Frank’s confidence and found it humorous at times.

They both tossed in a couple of unneeded textbooks and grabbed their science book.

“You looked like you were sketching again. Are you going to let me see it this time? Or am I going to have to resort to my ninja ways again?” Frank asked, as they both headed to their science class.

“Your ninja ways.” Mark answered.

“Seriously, man. Why are you so secretive about your sketches? The one I took when I went all ninja on you, was really good.” Frank said.

Mark rolled his eyes. “You’re just saying that because you’re such a good friend.”

“Nope. I wanted to make fun of you, because I’m such a good friend. But I couldn’t. It was too good.” Frank admitted.

Mark laughed as they both entered the science classroom. He believed Frank to a certain degree, but also thought that their friendship played a huge part in his favorable opinion. No one had to tell Mark, he knew that his drawings were sub par, childish, and not worth anything. 

The next day in Mrs. Vital’s class, she asked Mark to stay for a little while after class. She had asked him before class even started, so his imagination had envisioned everything from a compliment for his good grades, to expulsion from school. When the bell rang he slowly made his way to her desk. Frank caught Mark’s eyes and gave him a look that said both, “oh, man, I’m sorry,” and “I’ll wait in the hall.”

She opened her desk drawer and pulled out the sketch that he drew yesterday. He saw it in her hand, but couldn’t believe his eyes. “How did she get that? I stuffed it in my math book.” He thought to himself.

“Did you draw this?” She asked.

“Yes. But how did you get it?” He said.

“You must have dropped it after class yesterday. I found it under your desk.” Her expression changed from strict teacher to proud parent. “I should be upset at you for drawing while you were supposed to be listening. However, I can’t be upset. This is the best sketch I have ever seen. And not just by a student, but even by real artists. How long have you been drawing?” She was smiling, and Mark had to admit that she looked like she was telling the truth.

“Mom has some of my drawings from when I was three or four years old.” He answered.

“You are super talented. Have you taken any art classes?” She asked.

“No.” He answered. 

“Why not?” She inquired.

“I figured an art teacher would know how bad my sketches are.” He replied, while looking down at her desk, avoiding eye contact.

Tying to conceal her shock, she said, “Oh, my goodness! You think you are bad? How is that possible? Why would you think such a thing?”

He paused for a while, thinking about how much he should share with her. “No one knows the reason. Should I tell her?” After what seemed like an eternity, he finally decided to trust her. “My dad is an artist. Before he left us, I would show him my sketches and he would tell me how my technique was wrong, or that it was childish, or that it was a piece of…, well, a piece of crap, and that I should just quit trying since I obviously had no talent. Mom would tell me to keep drawing, but whenever Dad would see one, he would throw it away saying that’s where my drawings belonged. So, I started hiding them, and I still do to this day.” He revealed, while still staring at her desk.

She was dumb struck. Her eyes looked glassy and she rubbed one of them quickly. “I don’t want to say anything negative about your dad, but he is wrong. You are amazing and your drawing is amazing.”

Mark heard her, but was slow to take in her words. Many emotions began to flow to the top, like a slow volcano. He tried to be careful how he answered, but then his words just poured out. Not violently, but emotionally. “No disrespect, Mrs. Vital, but my dad is an artist and he knows what is good art. You are just a teacher.” Mark looked up at her as he said this. He felt angry, like he had to defend his dad. He also felt love for her, because her words were so kind about his drawings. His emotions were confusing and overwhelming. He felt his eyes swell up with tears, so he quickly looked down.

Mrs. Vital could see that this was more than just an unconfident kid. This was a kid who had been crushed by his dad. “I’m sorry for saying that about your dad. That is something I should not have said. Will you forgive me?”

“Yeah.” He stealthily wiped his eyes.

She paused for a moment and then realizing the time, ended the conversation. “I know you have to get to class, so I will let you go, but we will talk about this again. Soon. Okay?”

Mark nodded and turned to leave.

“Wait. Let me go with you, so I can explain to Mr. Johnson why you are late.” She said as she grabbed her phone and followed him into the hall.

This took place in Mark’s seventh grade year. Mrs. Vital and his mom bonded over their shared enthusiasm of Mark and his sketches. Mrs. Vital was so involved that she became like a bonus mom and his mom’s best friend. Frank jokingly started calling them “Mark’s two moms.” There was many times in the beginning, that Mark wished that Mrs. Vital never found that drawing and that she and his mom never became friends. They would gang up on him to draw more and to let others see them. They made him participate in the school’s art contest and to take every art class the school had to offer. He felt so awkward with all of their praises and when they shared his work with others, he would get so embarrassed.

But by the time he got to high school, he started to believe people when they said his artwork was good. He never got a big head. Many people saw the complete opposite. They saw a protégé that was so humble, it made him endearing. Because his two moms entered him into every art contest possible, his sketches found themselves displayed in the lobby of the County Courthouse, the Mayor's office, his church, in the lobbies of several prestigious businesses, and in his school with Mrs. Vital’s classroom displaying the most. His mom was so proud of his work, that she completely redecorated their house with his sketches.

His school now held the highest count of art awards of any in the state, including the highly prestigious Congressional Art Competition, which displayed his patriotic sketch in the U.S. Capital for a year. But his principal and mom were the most excited when he won the Doodle for Google contest. Google awarded Mark a $30,000 college scholarship and gifted his school a $50,000 technology package. He became a local celebrity.

Once he discovered girls, he started using his sketching skills to get dates. This was Frank's idea. Mark was way too shy to think of it on his own. Frank convinced him that girls would love to be sketched by, and to possibly date, a local celebrity. Turns out that Frank was right!

At the beginning of Mark’s senior year of high school, he still struggled to see his talent, regardless of all his achievements. He still heard his dad’s voice telling him that it’s all a lie. True artists would know that he’s a fraud, a fake, lacking talent, and only fooling those who don’t know any better. Mark had come a long way from seventh grade. However, he still believed his dad.

Six weeks before graduation, his mom told him that his dad had passed away. He remembered hearing something about complications from drinking and some bad drugs, but it was all a blur. He wasn’t close to his dad. The last time Mark saw his dad was after he won the Google contest a year ago. His dad was under the impression that Mark won a bunch of money. When he found out it was just a scholarship, he quickly disappeared again.

The funeral was tiny: five guys who said they were his dad’s friends, Mrs. Vital, his mom, Frank, a few of his friends, and himself. There was only a graveside service. Mark’s preacher was kind enough to officiate, even though he never met his dad. He read some scriptures and prayed. Then it was all over. Mark was numb. He kept telling himself that it was no big deal. He really didn’t know him. After all, his dad didn’t want to have anything to do with him, so why should he care if the man was gone. But he knew that he was feeling a deep pain, a huge loss, and he was mad at himself for feeling it.

After graduation night, Mark found himself driving alone, lost in his thoughts. He was supposed to go straight to his graduation party that his two moms were throwing for him and his friends. But instead, he went left. He didn’t consciously make his way to the cemetery where his dad was buried, but that’s where he ended up. He found his dad’s headstone, and to his surprise, began to kick it and punch it, screaming, and crying. The blows grew in furiosity. “Damn you! Damn you to hell!” He screamed these words violently. “Why couldn’t you just lie to me? Why couldn’t you just tell me I'm good? How could you be so hateful to a little boy?” He stopped beating the headstone and fell to his knees. Sobbing uncontrollably. After some time, he gained a little control and looked at his dad’s headstone. “Why couldn’t you just love me?” He laid down on the grass and cried his heart out.

Eventually, he ran out of tears. He stood and looked down at his dad’s headstone. “Everytime you said that one of my sketches was crap, I heard you say that I was crap and I believed you. But I want you to know that I no longer believe you. I’m a great artist. I have seen many people receive joy from my work. I’ve seen Mom make our house beautiful with my work. I’m going to go to college for free because of MY WORK! My work has made my mom, my teacher, my principal, and my friends proud of me.” He halted and thought. “I no longer care if I make you proud.” He let his tears flow again and began to release his anger. He loved his dad even though he didn’t want to admit it. As his anger retreated, pity filled its place. He knew that he should forgive his dad. He squared up his shoulders and wiped his tears. “I’m going to do for you what you never did for me. I loved your artwork and I loved you. I’m sorry you wasted your life, but I will make sure that I don’t waste mine.” Mark took a step away, looked back one last time, took a deep breath and smiled. “Goodbye, Dad.”

He walked back to his car, pulled out his phone and saw that he had dozens of missed calls from his mom, Mrs. Vital, and several of his friends. He forgot he had put his phone on silent at the graduation. The missed call from Frank looked like the safest to call back first.

“Hey.” Mark said when Frank answered his phone.

“Hey. Where are you, man? Your two moms are freakin’ out. They’ve been calling me and all of the guys, asking if we knew where you were. So, where are you?”

“I guess I needed to have a talk with my dad.” Mark knew Frank would understand, they have always had that kind of connection.

“Oh,” Frank paused. “I get it. But you better call your mom, pronto, man.” 

“I will. I will. Hanging up now. See you at the party.” Mark ended the call and called his mom. He knew she would understand too.

After calming down his mom and Mrs. Vital, he joined Frank and his friends at the party. Everyone cheered when they saw him, which took him by surprise. Frank, who saw his surprise, reminded Mark that he said he would do some cartoon sketches of a few of the guys as a graduation gift. Mark put his arm around Frank and smiled. “Yes I did, didn’t I.”