Tuesday, November 20, 2012

A Thanksgiving Story

When I was around 7 years old, I remember creating a Thanksgiving masterpiece.
It was a turkey made from an apple. It was a difficult task to get all the toothpick legs placed evenly. It had fallen over about a dozen times until I gotten it balanced just right. The toothpicks were then covered in mini marshmallows. I never actually drew blood but I was poked quite a few times while performing the precarious procedure. I had colored a head with only the sharpest of crayons and cut it out with care not to snip off the jiggly red gobbler skin that hung from his neck. I poked the toothpick tail feathers in the turkey butt, forming the perfect fan shape. I slid on the marshmallow feathers, rewarding my artistic endeavors with sweet puffy delights. One for me, one for the turkey butt. One for me, One for the butt.
It was finished!  
I was so proud of my accomplishment. I was an artist! I ran from the bus excitedly and placed it on the preset Thanksgiving table next to the centerpiece. I couldn't wait for mom to see it. She would be home soon and she might just pass out with pride!
I was in my older sisters care until moms return so I unveiled my creation to her with little fan fair. I went up to my room to change and kill some time until mom got back.
I heard the dogs bark. I knew that any time now, she would be walking through those doors and see her little girls artistic genius. My heart leaped with joy at the anticipation of it all. I ran down to greet her like one of the barking dogs.
"Mom, I have to show you something. Mom MOM MOM!"
I took her hand and lead her to the table, smiling with delight....
My smile turned to tears. My evil sister had taken a bite out of my masterpiece and ate its tail feathers!!
Thanksgiving was ruined. She laughed her satanic, red faced, horns popping out self all the way out the door as I stood there crushed beyond words. Mom scolded her made her say "I'm sorry." 
At that age,I was never able to express how it made me feel. I could only say it with tears. 
 I still love my evil sister, and have tried my best to forgive her.I guess that I would not be who I am today, if it were not for her. 

The moral of this story is..Do not let your dreams be crushed by apple eating devils. Believe in yourself no matter what criticisms come your way. 
And be thankful for what you have. Critics can give you insight if you can take their suggestions without feeling offended. Remain proud of your work. And be supportive of your fellow artists. For they may have had their apples bitten too.

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