I attended pre-school at the age of five years old. This was very traumatic at first for me when my father was dropping Fawn and I off while he went off to work as a cab driver to support our family. This really broke my heart when he left us each day. I thought I wasn't going to see him ever again. Of course he always came back to get us everyday. Fawn was somewhat okay being left alone, she always stared at me when I would cry. I eventually got over it during my pre-school days.
I believe I started kindergarten at age six. I was very shy yet always smiling. My teacher was a very nice woman. I still think of her to this day. We would sing in groups, which we all loved. My favorite was "Twinkle,Twinkle Little Star". I also enjoyed drawing with crayons on paper. I really loved to color. The children would sometimes gather around the table and watch me draw. They thought I was quite the artist. During these times, the kids would argue who would sit next to me. Most of them wanted to color with me. We were so innocent.
It wasn't until the next year during the first grade where I had trouble understanding. Because my artistic imagination was affecting my school work, everything I looked at became a piece of art. The color and designs on my teachers clothing became art. The children's clothing were interesting as well. My school work became art. The letters and numbers were becoming figures and robots. My imagination became out of control. I couldn't focus on my school work. When the teachers were talking to me,all I could hear were mumbles,like the parents on the cartoon "Charlie Brown". My father was called into the school a few times due to this problem. They questioned me of this issue but I was silenced because I couldn't explain what was going on within myself. I was too busy thinking of what to draw and color. This issue went on during my year as a first grader.
When my second year came around. I was still the same but I was a much better artist. My teachers started to notice that I had a gift. But my school work was still being affected. They started to pull me out of class once a day just so I can attend this class for "gifted students". I really don't remember a whole lot about this class,just that we were all considered equal. They were such nice teachers. I made everyone color pencil drawings, even for the other students.
I was held back in the third grade, due to this artistic intuition of mine. I became obsessed with my art. I started to draw on the back page of my school work from different classes. My teachers were concerned and some were upset I was making art instead of learning. Again,I became distracted with the environment around me. Everything was turning into works of art around me. Robots were the main characters of my imagination. Robots shooting each other. Tanks and airplanes. Sometimes, psychedelic colors would come down the wall or shoot across the class with cartoon characters. I could visually see them. I could have been hallucinating, but I know this was my imagination running wild and I couldn't stop it. Due to this process,I became verbally silent. I wouldn't talk to anyone. My grandmother had to come to school and get me to talk. This went on for the rest of the year. My grandmother and teachers could not understand what was going on with me. They thought maybe it was the traumatic situation that Fawn and I had endured during our times with our mother and foster homes, but it wasn't. My imagination went out of control.
That was just the beginning of my artistic imagination.
