Today Rilla asked me to “draw something for her to copy.” I wasn’t clear what this meant, at first. She explained that she likes to find drawings by her big sisters and copy them herself. Now she wanted to copy one of mine. “A ballerina, please.”
I began to sketch a head, trying to keep it simple. But I’d barely reached the shoulders when Rilla shook her head, distressed. “Um, not that kind, Mommy. Not the kind that looks like a real person.” (Worth noting: there was no danger of my lopsided ballerina looking real. Or even human, really. There’s a reason I’m a word person, not a picture one.)
But it was clear she had something specific in mind, so I pressed for enlightenment. “What kind did you want?”
“I’ll show you. Like the one in this picture.”
She scurried off and came back with a lovely crayon rendering of a pink ballerina. That she had drawn herself.
“Draw it just like this, Mommy. So I can copy it.”
Blogging for a Cure: Robert’s Snow and David Macaulay
Catch Me If You Can