Doodles of Despair

When I started any type of school, I was three and starting my first day at the Learning Center. My mother dressed me in a Mickey Mouse t-shirt and a matching red skirt. My hair was cut very short and I resembled a little Asian boy.

I trudged down the hall with my mom. I was holding her hand and rolling my backpack behind me. My mother pushed me towards the door of my classroom. She knelt down, pulled me in for a big hug, and said “Good luck mija. I'll be back for you at three, okay?” While my mom was on her way out, I ran and grasped her leg. “No mommy! Don't leave me here! Mommy, don't go!”

I bawledmy eyes out. I refused to let my mother's leg go. It took three teachers to get me off of my mother. After they finally got me away from my mom, they sat me down at the tables near the window. I looked around the room and I was surrounded by pictures of rainbows and cats.

I continued to cry. I remember my teacher sat next to me and put a piece of a paper and a box of crayons down in front of me. “Draw what you feel sweetie,” she said in a voice that sounded like monkey.

I ended up creating a series of black swirls and sketches. I wanted to express my anger and sadness. The teacher laughed and said “How cute.” I turned to my teacher quite seriously and sniffed. “Can you write something for me please?”

“Of course! What do you want me to write?” I instructed her. When my mom finally came to pick me up, my teacher handed her my artwork. My mother read out loud: “ 'Mommy, please don't forget me,' and how cute! Look at the little frowny face.”