I have set a few milestones over the course of my life intended to mark the possibility that, perhaps, I might have reached the point of being an adult once I met them. Even now, I'm far from being grown up, and when I actually turned 18, doing so didn't make me feel like an adult either. In my mother's house and under her roof, there were no magic numbers granting adulthood. I'm sure most of you grew up with the same understanding of the law of your momma's house. However, after I graduated from college, settled into work, and was brave enough to have my own post office box, a card similar to the one shown above came to my mailbox. It wasn't addressed to, "Mrs. Bebe Campbell & Danna," for the first time in my life. It was addressed to just me. I recognized the penmanship, and I delighted in a signature that even resembled an artist's paint pallet. Mrs. Cohenour began sending me my own Christmas cards about twenty years ago, and annually after Thanksgiving, I anxiously awaited the mail to arrive every day because I wanted to receive the year's art lesson just one more time from my beloved elementary school art teacher.
The above card's cover is a portion of a larger work entitled Dancing Angel, the work is French from 1480. Its composition is oil and gold on wood with three panels each being 54 x 23 inches. It was purchased for the Metropolitan Museum of Art by Mary Wetmore Shively Bequest in memory of her husband, Henry L. Shively, M.D. With every Christmas card has come an art lesson similar to this one. When I was an elementary student in her classroom, I understood primary colors, texture, clay, the power of the kiln, and the importance of filling my page with color. As I grew older, my lessons were raised beyond those elementary classroom tools; she educated me and many other students also known as Christmas card recipients about her love of true art, an "impression" that will never leave me.
At times, my eyes are open just enough to recognize those moments in life when connections come to me. When I write "connections," I don't mean those that are professional, friendly or associated with electrical cords filled with twinkle lights. I mean connections like puzzle pieces that fall from anywhere but a box. I'm always late to see the whole picture, but when I do, I find a lesson that encourages me to look closer.
Last week, a bright eyed, kind, and very proud little girl delivered to me a gift that had a wall cling wrapped up in the cutest gift bag. The cling said, "Be Who You Are." This wall cling even had adhesive rhinestones to kick up the bedazzle factor, and you know I love words in general, but if they sparkle, then that's a whole different kind of love. Even at forty-two, I don't have an inkling of who I am outside the traditional familial terms. Professionally, I know I'm a teacher. But when it comes to those adjectives that stick by my self image, I have a tendency to be hesitant to find the right ones. The only word I know that truly identifies who I've been all of my life is a student. So, just by being thoughtful enough to select a gift, carefully wrap it in an adorable bag, and pass it on to me, a complete stranger, a little girl reminded me about being a student of Mrs. Cohenour. Mrs. Cohenour would have loved wall art that says, "Be Who You Are." She would have loved the beautiful penmanship, she would have loved the sparkles, she would have loved having that conversation with me about the importance of never having just one response to that imperative statement, "Be Who You Are." She would have handed me an over sized piece of paper, some soggy paint brushes and the three primary colors and said, "Show me who you are today." And I would have drawn a huge smiling face because I was with her.
This is my first year without a Christmas art lesson from Mrs. Cohenour. Thankfully, I have several past Christmas art lessons from her that will be with me for many Christmases to come. I wish I could say I had them all from years gone by, but I didn't have enough sense to keep them all tucked away in a colorful, sparkly, appropriate place as she would have loved. For years, they've all been carefully placed in a dark pink box, adorned with glitter and a big pink bow. It was the prettiest box I had ever seen, and I wanted Mrs. Cohenour's cards to fit perfectly inside, and they do.
Mrs. Cohenour would want me to buy a newer, brighter, more sparkly box because the one I have needs a companion box. Something to celebrate the beauty of the Christmas cards it will hold until I fill it up, too. She would want the new box to have even more color. She would want me to write on its outside, "Be Who You Are," in my very best penmanship to remind me to listen to what children say, and read what they write or especially what they give. Maybe I'll go shopping for that new box tomorrow knowing that an angel, the beauty of whom even Michelangelo couldn't capture, will guide my selection and continue to be my beloved art teacher just one more time.
