Edward was an awkward boy and he knew it. Nature had not blessed him with striking features. Chubby, short and freckled, he struggled to fit in at school.
His protruding ears and pronounced overbite didn’t help matters, nor the fact his father was an alcoholic. His mother loved him dearly, but she was gone a lot. She had to work at the grocery store because her husband spent more time in local dive bars than the odd jobs he’d occasionally pick up.
“Hey, freak boy, what’s in your lunch bag?” Edward knew the voice well. As he turned around the school bully, Brent, grabbed the lunch bag from Edward and opened it.
“Ah, look what we have here! Peanut butter and jelly.” Brent shook it out of the bag and let it fall to the dirt.
“Courage is fire, and bullying is smoke.” -Benjamin Disraeli
“Wait, here’s a bag of M&M’s. Cool! Guess I’ll take this and let you live.” Brent shoved Edward down and tossed the crumpled bag at him.
Your heart knows how to paint
Edward never told his mother about Brent or the other mean kids at school. He tended to keep to himself and retreat into his imagination.
He loved the library, where he could read about other people and places. And the library was safe. But eventually school would get out and he’d have to walk home.
One day, as he slid past the park fence on his route home, he noticed an old woman along the edge of the grass. Her clothing was tattered and she wore a beanie cap. Beside her was a shopping cart with black, plastic bags.
“All God’s angels come to us disguised.” -James Russell Lowell
Edward was curious. In front of her were a small tripod and some sort of box. He knew to avoid strangers but there was something non-threatening about her. She looked kind.
“Hi.” It was all Edward thought to say.
“Hello, young man.” She smiled.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m trying to paint those trees over there. Aren’t they lovely?”
Edward could see now that she was holding some paintbrushes and her paint box held a small canvas board and had paints inside it. He asked about the box and she told him it was a pochade box.
“Can I watch you paint?” Edward asked, setting his backpack down.
“Certainly you can. But only if you help me.”
“I don’t know how to paint.”
“Your heart knows how to paint. You just need to let the rest of you catch up.”
She handed him a brush and adjusted her tripod to lower the pochade box. He asked what her name was and she said, simply, “Madam Painter.”
Children can be cruel
A friendship was born. Each day after school Edward would traverse the park and look for the old woman. Most days she was there and the two would paint.
He began to learn about shapes, values, and color. She showed him how to sketch and simplify his drawings. And they talked. He told her about his alcoholic Dad.
“Your father loves you, Edward. But sometimes men get lost in themselves. Maybe they’re sad or someone hurt them long ago.” She looked in his eyes.
“People hurt me, too. Like Brent.” He told her about the school bully. How mean the other kids could be because he looked funny.
“You look fine, Edward. Children can be cruel. If there’s one thing I want you to know, it’s that love and kindness are the most powerful things in the world. Love and kindness. Don’t ever forget that, even when you’re angry at the world.” And then she hugged him.
After that day, Edward never saw the old woman again. He continued to walk through the park and search for her, but she was gone. Like a guardian angel, she had come into his life when he needed a friend and then vanished.
The sense of its necessity
Edward continued to grow up. One Christmas his mother surprised him with a beautiful french easel. It was used, but functional. Later, in high school, he would meet a few students who liked art.
He found some friends. His Mom found a better job and he got braces for his teeth. His Dad surprised him one birthday with a set of oil paints. His way of atoning for the many times his drinking let Edward down.
“The beginning of atonement is the sense of its necessity.” -Lord Byron
Edward’s art progressed and he won a scholarship to a fine art college. Below his senior picture in the yearbook, his dedication read, “Thanks Mom, Dad, and Madam Painter.”
Time marched forward. Edward’s father eventually passed on and his mother retired to a comfortable apartment. Edward’s art career took off and he became quite famous, successful, and well known in his home town. He married and had two children.
How effective you live
One day Edward’s daughter came home from school with a flier. The school had organized a fundraiser for a student fighting leukemia.
“Her name’s Susie and she’s really sick, Daddy. Can we help?” Edward picked up his daughter and said, “Of course, sweetheart. An old woman once taught me that the most important things in life are love and kindness. I’ll donate a painting.”
“The value of life is not in its duration, but in its donation. You are not important because of how long you live, you are important because of how effective you live.” -Myles Munroe
The night of the school benefit-auction it seemed most of the town turned out. Edward’s painting attracted collectors from New York and a bidding war ensued. The painting sold for a small fortune and everyone applauded and cheered.
The principal tearfully thanked Edward and asked if she could introduce him to Susie’s parents. “Of course,” Edward said. So they crossed the school auditorium and the principal said, “Edward, this is Susie’s mother, Barbara. And this is her father, Brent.”
Brent.
He’d aged, his hair thinned and his eyes had softened a bit. No doubt life, and now his little girl’s illness, had siphoned the childhood meanness out of him.
Brent’s wife thanked Edward for his generosity. For helping her little girl. “I’m happy to help,” Edward said. And then Brent stepped forward.
He looked sadly into Edward’s eyes. Then he put his arms around Edward, hugged him tightly and wept.
Before you go
I’m John P. Weiss. I draw cartoons, paint, and write about life. Get on my free email list here for the latest essays and artwork.
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Previously published on “Personal Growth”, a Medium publication.
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Artwork by John P. Weiss