When I was a little girl, I thought that tonsils were long toothpicks that resided in the stomach. I have no idea where I got that impression, but there was no talking me out of it. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve had an especially keen appreciation for the ways of children, and of how they see the world. Of what they hear and of what they believe. I wonder what conclusions they’ve come to.
Rockland is my link into that world. I could listen to him talk all day. I have to squelch my desire to write it all down for fear of missing even one word.
Recently, one of his kindergarten classmates was missing her grandmother, who had died only the week before. She had heard Rockland speak about me in class, and decided she would draw a picture of me, and asked Rockland to give it to me. But, first she needed to know what I looked like.
I didn’t even know she was drawing a picture of you and then she came over to my desk and I told her what you were like.
Oh.
I said you had a blue dress. And you have curly hair. Black.
Awe! My favorite color is blue! I see some gray crayon in there, too. Did you tell her I had gray hair?
Yes, and I told her about your face—that your skin was brown.
How sweet.
I also told her she should draw a little bit of some glasses—an eyeball and then a lens.
Okay.
This portrait, drawn by a five-year-old I’ve never met, hangs on my refrigerator. It depicts her heart—the one that longs for her own grandmother. It is also a reminder to me of how I’m seen through the eyes of that little boy. I’m glad he included a smile.
Now, I’ll have to buy a blue dress.