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Twist that dagger in my heart
I was gonna get into the issues of the day today, but I’ve got some issues of my own that I’m still gnawing on.
A few weeks ago, if you’ll recall, I had finally finished and framed the two pictures I’d drawn for my parents. It cost me a fortune to get them matted and framed, and shipping them to my folks was no small chunk ‘o change, too. But I was excited about the work I had done (even blogged about the pictures while they were in progress), and was eager to hear their reaction to the first pieces of art I’d created in over 15 years. I couldn’t get them on the phone the day the packages arrived, and I wound up missing them last weekend, which is when we usually talk via the phone. So when they called and left a message last night, I was quick to return the call and hear their comments.
I shouldn’t have bothered.
When I brought up the pictures and said, “So, how did y’all like those pictures? I’ve been looking forward to talking to you about them.” I expected to hear some kind of excitement or enthusiasm. After all, my mother has been after me for several years not only to start drawing again, but to make a picture for her. But her reaction last night was a VERY nonplussed, “Welllll… it just isn’t my style.”
I was speechless.
My father was quick to jump in, ever the peacemaker, and tell me that he liked his picture (the colors, the artwork aspect of it, and how I picked the two helmets that represented aspects of his past to go with the golf ball for the present), and how he was planning on putting it up in his office at work. Which is cool, except – and I’m probably reading into the situation – that probably means my mother had no intention of hanging her picture anywhere in their home. That kinda pissed me off, as I had gone to extra trouble to make sure both pieces worked together and would look good as a set. But at least dad said he liked his. Even if he doesn’t really like it, I’m glad he said he did.
My mother even went so far as to offer to send the picture back, saying something to the effect of “You could maybe hang it at your place to show off to your friends. But I just don’t like this. I don’t like tattoos. It’s just not me.” I had thought that a drawing of a heart, rose, and the word “Mom” was a pretty safe expression of love to give to my mother. But apparently not.
After this, I was eager to get off the phone. I felt sick to my stomach.
I knew this was coming. Ever since I got the pictures ready to ship, I was wondering if my mother would be excited to get a new drawing from me or if she’d reject it because it’s something new and different from the way I used to draw. And because it’s not part of her little world of church and church people. I figured that, to her, tattoos and tattooed people are bad. But I tried give her the benefit of the doubt and not to be pessimistic. Even traci tried to convince me that, as a mother, she’d be so excited to see such a beautiful picture and would be grateful to have anything drawn by her son. I had almost believed her.
But sadly, she was wrong.
It hit me really hard once I got off the phone. To me, this was not just a rejection of my drawing (which I had really struggled for years to start drawing again and was happy that I had finally broken the dam, creatively-speaking), but it felt like a complete rejection of who I am as a person. Everyone wants to please their parents, and this was a very physical manifestation of that. And to have it go so wrong felt like a brutal punch in the stomach.
After having time to think about it overnight, I decided to take up my mother on her offer to return the picture. I’m still sick about it, but I don’t want the picture to be wasted on someone who’s embarrassed by it. I’m not about to put it up on my own wall, there would be too many bad emotions tied to it. But I’ll probably give it to traci, who is not only a great mother to her two sons but loves everything I make and would be thrilled to own something I’ve drawn.
I don’t even know what else to say. I still feel like my stomach is a twisted ball of tension. And I’m hurt too badly to be angry, which is my typical response (acutally no, I’m pretty angry, too). This one’s just gonna take a while to deal with.
Posted by FullMetalPatriot
12th gen. American, Constitutionalist, Harley-riding Texan, gun owner & NRA member, blogger, illustrator, Florida Gator alumnus. #TCOT
12th gen. American, Constitutionalist, Harley-riding Texan, gun owner & NRA member, blogger, illustrator, Florida Gator alumnus. #TCOT
