Once upon a time, in arts & crafts hour, my kindergarten teacher noticed that I had trouble cutting straight lines. She voiced her concern to my mother shortly after and persuaded her to order a "learn to cut kit" that would allow me to practice at home. When the kit finally arrived I was super excited. Inside the box was a colorful pair of safety scissors and a wide variety of lessons that I could cut to pieces in my attempt to perfect my lackluster cutting abilities. Immediately, I began to dilligently snip away so that I could prove to my teacher, my mother and the world that this kid could cut a straight line!
Follow the lines, Follow the lines, Follo-wing the lines, Following the lines, Dots, Dots, follow the Perforated Dots......
Before long I was cutting the most intricate of shapes - circles, stars, octagons and a line that was as straight as a 0 on the Kinsey scale! Words cannot express the pride I felt in the fact that now I was cutting just like everyone else.
Looking back I can see how this early experience in my past eerily foreshadowed other events of my developmental, young life. It turned out I was never very good at "following the lines." I can remember countless times when I was criticized for not being "straight" enough. I didn't walk "straight," didn't talk "straight," couldn't play "straight." Fortunately, I had certain people around who helped me to find beauty in myself and to see these attributes, which some described as imperfect, as special characteristics that make me who I am today.
My new crooked bang haircut (inspired by ad in July 2007 issue of Vogue Magazine) is an homage to that precious little boy who couldn't cut a straight line to save his life, and to the grown boy who has learned to see that true beauty lies in the slight veering of the scissors, the imperfect square or the circle that looks more like a jacked up egg. There is certainly beauty to be found in a straight line as well, but straight lines don't always cut it - except maybe in arts & crafts hour. Yea? Maybe......Nah!
1 comment:
So playing with dolls isnt playing straight??? No wonder I caught so much grief as a child myself!
Believe it or not, I too had an issue with using scissors in kindergarten--or at least it said so on an old report card. Maybe that's a side effect of the gay genes?
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