One little boy- a poem

When I was "home" last week I was given a big box of books. Another homeschool mom had cleaned out her closet and gave me some things she didn't need any more, or that her children had outgrown. 
 I was skimming through "The Successful Homeschool Family Handbook" when I stumbled upon a familiar poem.
 My Mom had stumbled upon the poem years ago and it had been an encouragement to her. An encouragement to stay individual, be creative, not follow the crowd - in her case, to homeschool. 
 We had talked about the poem over the years, but she couldn't remember who had written it, or where she had read it - only that she liked it. 
 Let me share it with you...


Once a little boy went to school.
He was quite a little boy
And it was quite a big school.
But when the little boy
Found that he could go to his room
By walking right in from the door outside
He was happy;
And the school did not seem
Quite so big anymore.

One morning
When the little boy had been in school awhile,
The teacher said:
"Today we are going to make a picture."
"Good!" thought the little boy.
He liked to make all kinds;
Lions and tigers,
Chickens and cows,
Trains and boats;
And he took out his box of crayons
And began to draw.

But the teacher said, "Wait!"
"It is not time to begin!"
And she waited until everyone looked ready.
"Now," said the teacher,
"We are going to make flowers."
"Good!" thought the little boy,
He liked to make beautiful ones
With his pink and orange and blue crayons.
But the teacher said "Wait!"
"And I will show you how."
And it was red, with a green stem.
"There," said the teacher,
"Now you may begin."

The little boy looked at his teacher's flower
Then he looked at his own flower.
He liked his flower better than the teacher's
But he did not say this.
He just turned his paper over,
And made a flower like the teacher's.
It was red, with a green stem.

On another day
When the little boy had opened
The door from the outside all by himself,
The teacher said:
"Today we are going to make something with clay."
"Good!" thought the little boy;
He liked clay.
He could make all kinds of things with clay:
Snakes and snowmen,
Elephants and mice,
Cars and trucks
And he began to pull and pinch
His ball of clay.

But the teacher said, "Wait!"
"It is not time to begin!"
And she waited until everyone looked ready.
"Now," said the teacher,
"We are going to make a dish."
"Good!" thought the little boy,
He liked to make dishes.
And he began to make some
That were all shapes and sizes.

But the teacher said "Wait!"
"And I will show you how."
And she showed everyone how to make
One deep dish.
"There," said the teacher,
"Now you may begin."

The little boy looked at the teacher's dish;
Then he looked at his own.
He liked his better than the teacher's
But he did not say this.
He just rolled his clay into a big ball again
And made a dish like the teacher's.
It was a deep dish.

And pretty soon
The little boy learned to wait,
And to watch
And to make things just like the teacher.
And pretty soon
He didn't make things of his own anymore.

Then it happened
That the little boy and his family
Moved to another house,
In another city,
And the little boy
Had to go to another school.
This school was even bigger
Than the other one.
And there was no door from the outside
Into his room.
He had to go up some big steps
And walk down a long hall
To get to his room.
And the very first day
He was there,
The teacher said:
"Today we are going to make a picture."
"Good!" thought the little boy.
And he waited for the teacher
To tell what to do.
But the teacher didn't say anything.
She just walked around the room.

When she came to the little boy
She asked, "Don't you want to make a picture?"
"Yes," said the lttle boy.
"What are we going to make?"
"I don't know until you make it," said the teacher.
"How shall I make it?" asked the little boy.
"Why, anyway you like," said the teacher.
"And any color?" asked the little boy.
"Any color," said the teacher.
"If everyone made the same picture,
And used the same colors,
How would I know who made what,
And which was which?"
"I don't know," said the little boy.
And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.


Helen E. Buckley.

 If I never use anything else in that whole box of books, I am so glad to have it just for this. This reminder to be individual. This prompting to create children who know how to think outside the box. This little piece of art which cries out for the art in every moment to be recognized.
 We are all called to our individuality in different ways. Sometimes something as simple as wearing crazy hats and interesting jewelry. Sometimes by homeschooling our children -(although that is hardly seen as out of the ordinary any more). Sometimes by volunteering our time and energy in places that others want to ignore the existence of. Sometimes by quitting our day job and answering the call of whatever God has been whispering in our ear for months.
 I certainly will never be an artist, so I can't really talk about creativity - but it is imperative to my sanity that I avoid pouring myself into a mold and trying to fit in with everyone around me. Individuality.
 I don't ever want to be a red flower with a green stem.