My parents bought a new bedroom set. As my mom was emptying her old bureau drawers, she found a little pottery dish I made in kindergarten: lumpy, misshapen, pocked, glazed an uneven royal blue. On the bottom it says, “M [Maiden name], K, 1983.”
24 years old, this hideous thing is. I remember making it in the cafetorium of my elementary school. I wanted it to be aqua, not blue, but it was hard to tell the glazes apart. I was disappointed when it came out of the kiln. It makes me a little sad for my five-year-old self.
She gave it to me. Now it’s on my desk, where I can tell people my creativity clearly blossomed at an early age. Behold:
24 years old, this hideous thing is. I remember making it in the cafetorium of my elementary school. I wanted it to be aqua, not blue, but it was hard to tell the glazes apart. I was disappointed when it came out of the kiln. It makes me a little sad for my five-year-old self.
She gave it to me. Now it’s on my desk, where I can tell people my creativity clearly blossomed at an early age. Behold:
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