Perception is Reality

My daughter is quite artistic. She loves to draw. She will draw anything and anybody, real or imagined. She can usually be pacified with even the smallest scrap of paper and a few crayons or markers. We all know darn well the boys can't be so easily distracted, but again, I digress!! The newest trend in her art is that she will either 1) draw some inanimate object down to the smallest detail, or 2) sketch out her perception of her current situation. By way of example of the former, I bought for her for Halloween a small oval ceramic ornament with the classic Halloween black cat silhouette, back arched and hair standing up on ends. It was glittered all the way to Bangkok and back. It still hangs on her wall with a black silky ribbon. In true Katie form, she squealed with absolute delight when she unwrapped it (somewhere glass was breaking). So a few days later I found her drawing of it on my desk. The little ornament was sketched out in black marker complete with her careful reproduction of the words "Made in Thailand" that were printed in 2 pt font on the back, as well as the admonishment that this ornament was "not a toy."
Anyway. Not to beat a dead horse, but Dan has been gone more than he's been here. After Dan left this past Sunday, and well before he returned, I found some of her artwork on Dan's desk:



I was both heartbroken and entertained at the same time. This is how she sees our lives right now: Dad's always headed to the airport while the rest of us stay at the apartment. She didn't put any particular slant on it, just stated the facts. No other details mattered, no explanation necessary, except to make sure he saw it was for him with her note on the back!



One final example of her using art to express her life is below. It probably does not require any explanation, but just to make sure you've got the complete picture - ah, pardon the pun, that just typed itself! - keep in mind we're in quite a small space, and after a few shots by her nerf-gun toting brothers, Katie gets quite perturbed. Her brothers have no less than, um, 87 nerf guns, which shoot with varying degrees of speed. Some of them shoot out the little orange nerf bullets that have velcro on the tips, and some have plastic so they stick to the tv, the ceiling, framed things on the wall, the mirror, the doors, etc. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on your age and gender, the boys have pretty good aim, too. Everyone in our family has taken one to the face. At least once. A few of the guns are what Jack refers to as "tommy guns." That makes me think of Marlon Brando, The Godfather, Al Pacino screaming in that great accent "Say hello to my leetal friend!"...all that kind of stuff. As an aside, where Jack heard the term "tommy gun" I do not know. It's sure not something we talk about over dinner in my house. I do wish I had been on the team that developed these nerf products. They must be sitting on mountains upon mountains of cash, thinking of new ways to torture mothers and little sisters. I am continually amazed at the variations of nerf guns and all the accoutrements that are available - little plastic boxes to hold your "bullets," (I have a plastic soap travel container I bought for 99 cents some years back that would have done the same thing but is not quite as cool for my little Marlon Brandos), the strap things that they wear across their chest so they have instant access to extra ammunition, and other stuff I don't even know what it's for. I'm further amazed at how the boys - Jack, especially, can make such a stupendous and convincing case for the necessity of yet another one. "But it shoots five at a time, Mom," or "It reloads itself!," or "I need the new tommy gun 2.0 that has the single green stripe down the side with the yellow trigger! I only have the 1.0 version with no stripes!!!!!"


It's like a disease among boys this age. Just go to an eight-year-old boy's birthday party. It's virtually a Nerf convention! And each boy is a little Nerf-gun toting representative from his own sqaudrant, with his own private stash parts of which he may or may not have brought to the party in anticipation of a shoot-out. They almost start seizing when the birthday boy opens another nerf gun or accessory. Somehow, somehow, these boys can tell which nerf gun is their own. It's like women with shoes!! I have had boys over to my house with nerf guns IDENTICAL (to my nerf-virgin eyes at least) to the guns belonging to my sons. But somehow - it's astonishing - the boys have no trouble identifying their weapons, and even their bullets! Simply astonishing, their skills. I pray the United States military is working on ways to harness these abilities in our real-life war on terror. If not, I know some boys who are equal to the task, and can not only find and capture Osama Bin Laden, but have him singing like a canary! Mr. POTUS, when you are ready to truly end this war on terror, my boys stand ready!