“Your child is a problem. he seems to find joy in disrupting my class. you should really be concerned with his future.”
My ears were almost numb to these reassuring phrases that spilled from the ear piece of our slinky corded phone. These monthly teacher, father and child conversations became so recurring that for the next 10+ years of my childhood, I really believed I was a failure.
The amount of Ds, Fs and Incomplete's on my report cards made the occasional C worth celebrating.
It wasn't until my senior year in High School when I finally came to terms with my education. My lack of interest, was because of a lack of interest. Where some saw numbers, I saw shapes and colors. Where they saw problems I saw opportunities. Beauty had no boundaries; there we're no rights or wrongs. This was when I discovered me. This was when I discovered art.
Because my parents have felt the torching 110 degree Southern Vietnamese sun, and have labored through 15 hour field days, the comfort of a white lab coat and a crispy air conditioned room was the only future they wished for their own child.
