Portrait of the Artist as a Young Girl

Three years ago today, I wrote this Portrait of the Artist as a Young Girl series. Check it out.

darlene anita scott

I read somewhere that as an adult you become whomever you were at age 7.  Part of me thinks: scary thought.

The 7 year old I was—always trying to write the longest story in Mrs. Fountain’s class—with the neatest handwriting (we received a grade for penmanship) is not wholly unlike the woman I have become.   I wanted to imitate her perfect script so-o-o-o-o-o bad I probably burned holes in the cursive border that lined our classroom wall.  I was a determined little girl, erasing holes into that thin paper—it was a the color of recycled paper, about as thin as parchment, and lined so that we could keep our upper and lower case letters at a proper height; there was a big empty white space at the top—so we could illustrate whatever we had written about.

On the “quiet side” of the room  Doreen—my twin—was on the “noisy side”…

View original post 419 more words

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s