sides of the universe

When I was in the sixth grade, there was a contest to draw a picture to be included on the title page of our annual. The annual was a half sheet, folded, black and white, staple bound affair that had all the features of a full-size year book in the convenience of a size more acceptable to those in the sixth grade. I am sure the printing and handling costs were similarly smaller, which was probably the most important point than any other for a small, out-of-the-way, island-based elementary school.

There were several pictures submitted, I did not think highly of my drawing skills, but given the context requested, I knew my subject matter would overcome my lack of style. Let me explain how I arrived at my subject.

The weekly Color Guard was a randomly picked foursome that would escort and raise the flag a few minutes before the pledge of allegiance was read over the loud speaker. It was one of the many minor honors available to school age children. On a side note, everyone said the pledge of allegiance, it was what was done.

The crisis du jour, delivered by the previous contingent, was thus: while preparing to hoist the flag aloft, everyone on the team seemed to have been paying more attention to pulling the rope than actually attaching the flag, which promptly fell to the ground. Now under normal circumstances, one would think to quickly snatch up the flag from the ground, give it a quick dust off, and start anew. But this being an island composed of the most invasive and red soil to be found this side of the Sedona desert, it was quite obvious this incident would not be sterilized so easily. In fact, due to the rains the night before, there was not only dirt on the flag, but huge red, brown streaks of mud. No, this would definitely not be so easily overcome.

The children were aghast and noticeably disturbed to think they had soiled this all important banner of our nation (because that is what we were taught at this tender age). They did what every school kid does in need of emergency cleaning at school. They called the janitor. The janitor at once notified the principal and things quickly escalated. Once the adults starting getting involved, it became more about demonstrating proper flag etiquette and less about assuring the kids they did not just shit all over the country they call home. This was a real patriotic crisis, even more so since it was discovered should the American flag ever come in contact with the ground, it should be ceremoniously burned. So given the circumspect nature of the elementary school mind, the thought process is thus: "The flag touching the ground is an event of such enormous badness, the only way to overcome the shame of it is to incinerate it and get a new one."

Okay. Got it. Lesson learned.

Let's return to to the point of this little story, shall we? Out of the gray fog of my brain, my very astute sixth grade logic labeled the events as to carrying the utmost seriousity. "The flag touching the ground? SERIOUS!". This was my picture. This was the content that would catapult me from relative grade-school obscurity, to the much vaunted elite group of kids everyone wanted to give their coveted bag of Fritos. I immediately set to work drawing the flag pole with the school as the backdrop. Then the flag just as it was starting to lose its tension as the lanyard it was tied to snapped. To bring the drama to the fore, I replaced the entire color guard to one, lone kid, a look of horror breaking on his face as the realization of the events were just dawning on him. His pose was the one of a person being shocked into action.

This was killer stuff.


I joined the queue as we all waited for the teacher's aide to review the entries. I watched with anticipation as she looked at the candidate pictures one by one. I noticed there was no great reaction, an occasional "Nice" or a "Good job". I was sure to be in. It was my turn.

She took a look at my drawing. And blinked. She held it at arm's length, apparently to take in the whole of the composition. A look came over her that I could only describe as disgust. She immediately went into a rant "People will open this book years from now and and the first thing you want them to see is a joke?". "How could you even think of putting this picture in the book (like it's a bible, right?), this is not amusing, not funny, at all!" Shamefaced, I meekly retrieved my picture and returned to my desk thinking, "What the heck was that about?" You asked for serious, didn't you?

It was at this point, the universe taught me several important lessons.

• Be careful what you ask for
• Know your audience
• Don't expect adult answers from an eleven year old

-nn