In case you weren’t aware, today is National Portfolio Day. This is the day where aspiring artists take their portfolios to showcase in front of several well known colleges with prestigious art programs. At least in my city anyway. My son’s art teacher sent me the link to this event a few weeks ago, and of course I signed up right away. In the past I’ve felt overwhelmed with the idea of what is needed to enroll in an actual four year college. I got my first degree at the local Community College, my first semester I was pregnant. I finished up most of my degree online. The last semester I had to squeeze in two night classes while working full time with a baby. My second degree was completely online. It was also something I’ve never used. I was desperate to do something at the time, maybe to prove that I could. So I got that degree as useless proof of my worth.
When I had my son it was important to me to figure out what he liked. To never impose my preferences onto him, but for me to acquire my taste to his. For me to encourage him no matter how out of the box he was drawing. He was drawn to dolls and art and dance. His father screamed at me for allowing this. But nothing would change my mind. Allowing him to be him was #1 in my mind. We went through so many different phases. The SpongeBob phase, the stuffed animal phase, the Scooby-Doo phase, the princess phase. The video game phase, the you-tube phase, the horror movie phase, etc. Every time my son expressed interest in something I would go over the top. I would buy everything I could find associated with that one thing he loved. I would create an experience surrounding his interest. But most of all, since he loved art, I made sure he started lessons as soon as possible. He’s been taking them every week for 7 years. He expressed he wanted to dance, he’s now been dancing for 6. I never, ever wanted to be the one to disappoint him. I would rather go into debt, work two jobs. Do whatever I needed to do. My life was and is making sure he’s happy.
The tragedy here is not that I do this to an extreme, the tragedy is that this is a compulsion for me. That he is a projection of the little version of me, and I am now who I wish my mom could’ve been for me. When I was in 11th grade I had an eating disorder, I was running away from home, getting screamed at constantly. Told how worthless I was. I was cutting school, getting high to ease the pain. Dating older guys. Praying someone would finally take care of me. “The saddest thing in life is wasted talent”, my senior yearbook quote. No one batted an eye. No one asked me why that was the quote I related to the most.
As I prepare my son for his next steps in life I am seeing clearly what my teenage years should’ve been like. They should’ve been filled with love, support, comfort, ease, hope, excitement. For me, these were some of the darkest days of my life. Not because the most tragic events happened during them, but because from 12 years old on, I was essentially on my own to figure things out as I went. And to be honest, I didn’t really do a great job. There were a lot of errors involved. Looking back, I wish I could’ve had some guidance. I wish someone could’ve stepped in. But they didn’t. At the end of the day it is what it is.
So my son is able to think about the college he will attend. He will be able to do what he loves. Illustration. I will support him as much as I possibly can. He already knows that. I was thinking, and it’s like pretty soon I’ll be graduating again. Not just him. I won’t be 17 this time, but I’ll be ready to move forward based on experience. I parented him, but also reparented myself. I gave him things I never had. Maybe my next chapter will be to give those things to myself.
The Girl Without A Face 