Imagination as a Child

As a young boy I grew up in a healthy environment, I had just about everything a child could ever want from toys to video games to pets. But all of that did not catch my interest, what really stood out to me was my passion to draw and create things with a pencil and paper. Unlike me, David the six year old boy from Stitches had a much more cruel childhood and underwent extreme days which were clear to see why he needed to escape somehow.  However, as for me I did not use drawing to escape, rather I used it as entertain myself and a way to express my feelings.

I always knew I would never be as great as Pablo Picasso or the next great artist but I enjoyed it more than anything growing up. Drawing challenged my childhood even though it was my passion although my peers did not see it that way.

 Having an older brother and a lot of family who enjoyed other activates like playing outside or playing videogames really threw me as the odd kid in the family. On top of having health conditions like asthma and a stigmatism playing outside really fatigued me and playing inside with videogames left me nearly blind for hours so I withdrew myself from activities like that.

 Unfortunately, I became what my parents liked to call the “chunky boy”. Indeed I was completely out of shape and overweight. At about the age of thirteen I joined the football club and the local boxing gym which developed me to lose the extra pounds I packed on as a kid and am now in the greatest shape I have ever been in my life, and plan on keeping it that way.  

I believe I would never be the person I am today if it wasn’t for my passion to draw. Drawing excited me, knowing I could create a work of art in my eyes made more sense than doing things others wanted me to do.  I never took criticism too seriously, but I did understood I was wrong at times like not getting enough exercise, or doodling in class and not paying attention to the lectures my teachers would give.

Till this day I still have that passion and creative energy to dose off in class and start to doodle on the margins of handouts or on myself.  I know I will continue to draw things any and everywhere if I get even a little bored. I am even expanding my creativity off of paper to more complex things like painting and wood carvings which I find fascinating. I may be the odd kid of my family but I believe different is better, and that motivates me and keeps the kid in me out.

In life every moment will become a memory, and every memory will be remembered if it is significant enough, like a myth, that is passed down from generation to generation.

Like many, I have my own story to tell. This may not be the story of the century which you tell your children at night before they go to bed, or the next New York’s best seller, but it is one that will be remembered by me as one of my childhood memories. Throughout my childhood I was raised in a farm on the outer parts of the city. At about the age of six I remember the conflicts and horrible fights I would undergo every day, there were times in my life when I felt like I was being beaten and abused. Some would call it animal cruelty, but as for me I used to call it “revonimals”(Revenge of the Animals).

Growing up with an older brother had its ups and downs there were even times when I considered killing him, Either because of sheer jealousy or just heavy horseplay, however I love my brother and would never do such a thing. Jaime had a rather vivid imagination and sought out strange ways to stimulate them. One of my first conflicts was with chicko our pet duck. In one occasion jaime wanted to see chicko fly. I remember this moment like it was just yesterday; I remember racing up the stairs, and the rail we used to slide down every day; I remember the smell of our old house and where exactly every room was, even though it’s been over ten years since I have seen the place. When my brother decided he wanted to see chicko fly he hid the ten pound duck the best he possibly could, with dads big Carrheart jacket, from mom who still is overprotective of us till this day. But somehow we managed to slip past the kitchen where my mom was and up to the porch without chicko making too much noise.  Once there, my brother thought of a magnificent idea which led me to go back downstairs and catch chicko in case he couldn’t fly, because the last thing two young children would ever want to do is hurt an innocent animal. As I got myself into position down below I held my arms up as a sign to Jaime indicating I was ready. He began to count to three” one… two.. three.. flyyy!!!”

As he was counting I was confident of the duck, and believed he would fly away, and be free so I let my hands down by the count of two. Little did I know that that ten pound duck would come straight down at my face and knocked me out cold for a few seconds. As I laid there unconscious Jaime raced down and told my mom what had happened and as I woke up in my mother’s worried arms and of course my older brother crying but not because he is worried but of laughter. I was in shock and did not know what happened all I remember was waiting to see chicko fly. As I was being pampered by my mom I turn from her and my brother to see chicko in the water swimming in the pool calm as ever. Later that evening my brother told me what happened and till this day I will never forget his facial expression when I woke up to see him in tears.