|
Creative Spirit Created Itself
My guardian has never really been the greatest playful parent. When I wanted
to play, he’d either say he didn’t want to or would ignore me. He didn’t know who the
pink power ranger was, or what she did. He hadn’t any clue why I watched the Saturday
morning cartoons religiously, and why I couldn’t settle my six year old self down to
watch the latest news that flickered across the TV screen instead. When it came to
imaginary games, he’d tell me to go play them by myself – which made them extremely
strange since that’s like telling a teenager to have a party alone. I remember
thinking, in my youthful innocence, what was into my biological mother when she left
me with such a boring playmate. Wasn’t that what a parent was supposed to be: playful?
Years went by, I was eleven, and the only time my grandfather would play with
me was when we were participating in tennis. I’ve played tennis since I was seven or
so, but I never played for anyone but me. By the time I was eleven, I was choking on
tennis rackets and needed a break from topspin, net shots, and volleys. But I didn’t
take a break, because there was something I was lacking attention wise that I acquired
when I was playing tennis, as negative as that attention could be sometimes. “Why didn’t
you get that ball over? Stop aiming your racket that way! Don’t you listen, or have I
raised a deaf girl?”
This has been the biggest grumble of my life. An old man as my parent hasn’t
always been the greatest thing. I never understood why his behavior towards me lacked
tenderness, and I had always had a grudge against him for that. Why couldn’t he cooperate
with me as a child? Why couldn’t he play a stupid game with me so I wouldn’t be begging
for attention later, or at least so I didn’t have to be so alone?
A few more years went by and I found myself seventeen, in the doctor’s office.
My guardian, or my grandfather now, was having a procedure done because of his anemic
state. We were chatting quietly in the waiting room, and I spotted a little boy playing
with his toys. The brown-haired child was hiding a toy, or his version of hiding it which
really meant tossing it, and making two of the other toys go find their lost friend.
It was a type of role play game, and it made me laugh. My grandfather asked what I was
laughing at and I pointed at the smiling child.
He observed quickly and noticed the mother, who left the child alone, and a year
old sister. He nodded and said, “Yep. You know why he’s being so creative with his games?
He doesn’t have an older brother to stunt his creative growth. He doesn’t have a little
sister to tease and whine about because she’s still too small. That kid’s going to be
truly creative in spirit and that’s what this world needs.”
Suddenly, things made a bit more sense when it came to life. He hadn’t forgotten
to care for me, and it wasn’t his lack of the want to play. He wanted me to be creative
and artistic. He wanted me to learn to be alone so I didn’t have to depend on anyone to
make me feel at home. Though he had quite an odd way of doing this, it was indeed effective.
So now that I understand, at least the basics, maybe it wasn’t so bad finding ways
to entertain myself as a child. Maybe crossing my arms and walking away from a napping
grandfather was worth it, because I’d travel to my crayons, paper and glue instead to
create what I called “art.” After all, one can not learn to have a creative spirit. It
does not come from books, pens, or math problems. It comes from within, and blossoms with
practice. It cannot be harnessed, and sometimes bucks like a wild stallion; but why would
anyone want it any other way?
~Kate, Kate@theguthan.com
|
