A Tiny Spark
By Gloria Hander
Lyons
After my
son was born, I became a full-time, stay-at-home mom. My activities revolved
around his. I was the Cub Scout leader, soccer mom, room mother and all-around
volunteer. Being a person who thrives on creativity—drawing, sewing and
crafting—these efforts fueled my creative spirit, but my subsequent reward was better
than any I could have imagined.
When my son
entered fourth grade, I volunteered to work at his school library twice a week.
The librarian soon discovered my amateur drawing skills and begged me to paint
murals of the kids’ favorite book characters on the learning center walls.
Since the room was lined with bookshelves, the only paintable surfaces were the
soffits surrounding the entire space at the ceiling and one large support pole
in the center.
Anxious to
start the biggest craft project of my life, I began with the most accessible
spot, drawing “Jack and the Beanstalk”, with the stalk encircling the ten-foot-high
center pole. I’d barely sketched three feet of the leafy vine when a prissy
second grader planted her feet in front of me, hands-on-hips. “Does Mrs.
Blakely know you’re writing on the walls?” she asked.
“Yes,” I
assured her. “Mrs. Blakely (the principal) asked me to decorate the library
with colorful paintings.”
“That’s so cool!” she squealed. “I’m
going to paint pictures on my wall, too!”
“Uh…you might want to ask your
mother first…” I yelled at the fleeting figure. I made a mental note to warn
parents about this project’s potential for promoting home graffiti.
After completing the drawing on the
pole, I moved to an eight-foot ladder to sprinkle my renderings around the two-foot-high
strip of wall space that surrounded the room—ten feet off the ground.
I climbed up and down that ladder hundreds
of times, first to sketch each scene, and then fill in with brightly colored
paint. Students and teachers frequently paused to offer encouragement or share their
favorite book memories with the lady on top of the ladder. My hope was not only
to spark the children’s interest in art, but encourage them to experience the
amazing adventures found in books.
“I want to be an artist, too,” said
a red-haired first-grade boy with a freckled face. He bent his head back at an
awkward angle to gaze up at my work. “But I’m scared of high places.”
“Maybe you can paint at your desk
instead,” I suggested. And your toes won’t fall asleep from standing on the
ladder rungs for hours at a time. He smiled back at me, relieved to know he
could still be an artist, with his feet planted firmly on the ground.
The ladder inched along slowly over
the next two years, as I filled the entire space with fun characters from
children’s books: Curious George; Big Bad Bruce; Lyle, Lyle Crocodile and many, many more. Each book I depicted became
the most requested title of the week.
“She was my favorite character,”
said a fourth-grade girl, watching wistfully while I drew a scene from Charlotte’s Web. “I cried when she
died.”
“I cried, too,” I said. “Charlotte
was a good friend.” I found myself reliving some of my favorite stories along
with the children, and longed to read each book again.
The afternoon I put the finishing
touches on the final drawing and stored my ladder away for the last time, hundreds
of students began filing into the library. The music teacher wheeled in a piano
and the librarian motioned me over to the center of the action.
She had planned a special ceremony
to express their appreciation for my artistic contribution to the school. Mrs.
Blakely presented me a huge basket overflowing with thank-you notes from the students.
It had been a long, but rewarding journey, sharing scenes of beloved storybook
characters that had influenced the lives of teachers and students alike.
My heart caught in my throat as I
struggled to fight back tears, but lost that battle when the children began to
sing “Just One Little Candle”, accompanied by the piano.
“It is better to light just one little candle, than to stumble in the
dark! Better far that you light just one little candle, all you need's a tiny
spark!”
I was both surprised and humbled by
all this attention. By the time the kids finished their song, the librarian was
crying, the teachers were sniffling and the pianist blinked back tears while
trying to read the sheet music. It was gratifying to realize that my hard work
had fostered such appreciation.
Those storybook wall murals had
sparked a flame in my heart—a constant reminder that sharing my time and talents
with others could reap a lifetime of joy in return.
