My Castration

I can still remember my grade for a piece of art assigned to me in the third grade.  “Draw a picture of a horse using stick figures…Stick figures”, my teacher said…easy, I thought.  I got an “F”.
Apparently I wasn’t supposed to show some parts of the horse.  In my defense I pleaded that it was a stallion and a stallion, well you know what a stallion has.
My teacher, Miss whatever the hell her name was, got all pink and red just talking about it.
I got all red and angry just thinking about it.  I got all red and angry because I was embarrassed.
I still get angry but not because she embarrassed me.  I still get angry because she castrated me…not my manhood…no she castrated my creativity
I wonder about what may have been.  I wonder what may have been had she not ripped the soul from my creative heart.
 I am reminded of the old saying, “Kilroy was here” and the picture of his face peeping over a wall…all you can see is the top of his head, his eyes, his nose, his ears and his hands.
Some people saw Kilroy as someone or something watching them.  They saw someone keeping track of what they were doing.  I have a different take on Kilroy.
I see Kilroy as a timid soul trying to break free of the imaginary shackles that bound him and kept him from creating the person he wanted to be.  I saw me.
Now, in the latter part of my life, the so called golden years, I still see that timid soul.  I see a man wary of taking the steps that could free him.  I see a man wary of those steps because he doesn’t yet relish the freedom of creation more than he fears the humiliation of failure.
My mind radiates a picture of my inner strength beginning to form as imaginary oils flow across a crumpled piece of canvas as if a bucket of paint were spilled.  The oils flow slowly, picking the perfect bumps and crevices of the canvas to form the realities of my life.
A luscious green pasture filled with vibrant flowers appears.  On the far edge of the pasture in the shadows of a giant oak tree stands a castrated stallion.  The golden rays of the sun reflect from his sleek ebony body. 
The stallion lifts his head and his flaring nostrils take in the smells of life.  His shining black eyes glisten with the desire to sample the truth of daring.  His heart begs for the courage to walk among those flowers on his own terms.
The giant oak’s gnarly branches are his haven.  Its leaves are his blanket of warmth. He is protected from whatever snakes are hidden among the flowers.  He snorts, he paws the earth, he charges the flowers, but he has yet to taste the flowers because his fear of the snake is too great.
The oil continues to flow.  The sun edges closer to the earth.  Shadows become part of the oils.  The stallion lifts his head and once again, the smell of the flowers beckons him.  He paws the ground.   He knows the oil is beginning to dry.
Old Grizz


  1. some people are like that!

  2. it's so heart wrenching when an adult treats a child in a way that makes them feel "less than" in any way. i'm probably close to your age and i lived most of my life in fear ~ of almost everything, but i am trying very hard to do things despite the fear... it may never go away but i'm running out of time. i hope you find your way to do the things you dream of.

  3. I remember well a moment in my first-grade class when my teacher humiliated me for coloring the sun orange. I protested that the sun is a ball of and glowing, not a soft lemony yellow as we were instructed to use. Much to the other children's laughter, she marked my paper with an ex, despite the nice job I did of staying in the lines. I learned from that to keep the way I viewed the world a secret, that there were those who wanted to destroy my soul, just as your teacher attempted to do to yours, and you recall it still, just as I do. I hope there is a special place in hell for those who quash a child's vision of the world and themselves!!!