Highs and lows
I dragged out my old whiteboard and Karin bought some dry-erase markers. Oh, how delighted Samuel was: they were like a drug for him. The first day and a half, he didn’t color or draw so much as slam the board on our laps, no matter what we were preoccupied with, and insist that we draw things. “Happy triangle,” he would plead. “Happy nonagon. Happy decagon.” (YouTube has taught him shapes and some emotions.) Then, yesterday, for a few brief hours, he drew the shapes himself.
Then, this morning, he couldn’t draw anything. “The markers have dried out,” I had to tell him. Still he pressed them to the board. So intense was his desire to draw, the concept of their drying out eluded him longer than it would have eluded someone with a cooler intellect.
Then, this morning, he couldn’t draw anything. “The markers have dried out,” I had to tell him. Still he pressed them to the board. So intense was his desire to draw, the concept of their drying out eluded him longer than it would have eluded someone with a cooler intellect.