When I was in middle school, I drew cartoons in class. Instead of having a notebook full of history notes, I had a notebook full of cartoons about history. I would make little doodles of historical figures and their stories. It helped me remember things better, for some reason.
They were not very good cartoons, admittedly.
My history teacher was good, though.
Mr. Ryals taught us a lot more than history. He told us stories about his life. His friends. His experiences. He gave us life lessons to take away from his class. "Balance." He said. "You need to find the balance." They were words I took to heart. Before the end of the year was up, he called me to his desk. "Hey," he said. "You should draw cartoons." "I do," I said. "No," he said. "Draw them for the newspaper. I'm serious. You could be a cartoonist for the newspaper." I laughed and said no. "Do it." He told me. "I want to see your comics in the New York Times."
So I kept drawing cartoons. None of them were particularly good. Most of them were ambitious at best. Beyond my skill level. I tried to have a webcomic. I drew about three comics before giving up. I could not keep the schedule. But I kept drawing.
The summer before my freshman year, I saw an advertisement in the newspaper. "CARTOONISTS WANTED." So I submitted a cartoon. And I kept drawing. I ended up drawing comics for two semesters, summer and fall. It hardly paid anything, but that wasn't why I was doing it. "Look, Mr. Ryals," I wanted to say. "I'm doing it!" It was fun. I was doing it for myself almost as much as I was doing it for him. It didn't seem to matter what I drew as long as I drew something.
I was able to draw whatever I wanted. It's not like anyone was actually paying attention to what I drew. Freedom, $6 a day. I could draw better than most of the cartoon staff, too. But it was an endurance game, and I stopped. I was drawing nonsense pictures and it was eating up my free time. Who was reading it, anyway?
I kept drawing.
The other day we had a dinner to celebrate the end of the EMS class. As I left, the instructor stopped me. "Hey dude," he said. "You should draw comics for the newspaper." I stopped. "I did." He paused. "Really?" "Yes, I drew 'Dinosore.'" He looked at me and grinned. "You drew that?" He turned to the other instructors. "Hey, he's the guy who drew Dinosore."
I thought about it as I walked away from the restaurant. There is always somebody watching. Somebody who wants to pretend that they enjoy it.
Who am I to stop them?
They were not very good cartoons, admittedly.
My history teacher was good, though.
Mr. Ryals taught us a lot more than history. He told us stories about his life. His friends. His experiences. He gave us life lessons to take away from his class. "Balance." He said. "You need to find the balance." They were words I took to heart. Before the end of the year was up, he called me to his desk. "Hey," he said. "You should draw cartoons." "I do," I said. "No," he said. "Draw them for the newspaper. I'm serious. You could be a cartoonist for the newspaper." I laughed and said no. "Do it." He told me. "I want to see your comics in the New York Times."
So I kept drawing cartoons. None of them were particularly good. Most of them were ambitious at best. Beyond my skill level. I tried to have a webcomic. I drew about three comics before giving up. I could not keep the schedule. But I kept drawing.
The summer before my freshman year, I saw an advertisement in the newspaper. "CARTOONISTS WANTED." So I submitted a cartoon. And I kept drawing. I ended up drawing comics for two semesters, summer and fall. It hardly paid anything, but that wasn't why I was doing it. "Look, Mr. Ryals," I wanted to say. "I'm doing it!" It was fun. I was doing it for myself almost as much as I was doing it for him. It didn't seem to matter what I drew as long as I drew something.
I was able to draw whatever I wanted. It's not like anyone was actually paying attention to what I drew. Freedom, $6 a day. I could draw better than most of the cartoon staff, too. But it was an endurance game, and I stopped. I was drawing nonsense pictures and it was eating up my free time. Who was reading it, anyway?
I kept drawing.
The other day we had a dinner to celebrate the end of the EMS class. As I left, the instructor stopped me. "Hey dude," he said. "You should draw comics for the newspaper." I stopped. "I did." He paused. "Really?" "Yes, I drew 'Dinosore.'" He looked at me and grinned. "You drew that?" He turned to the other instructors. "Hey, he's the guy who drew Dinosore."
I thought about it as I walked away from the restaurant. There is always somebody watching. Somebody who wants to pretend that they enjoy it.
Who am I to stop them?
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