The most important object to me is the drawing book my old art teacher gave me when I was in second grade. The book is kind of ripped on the cover. It’s all black, and when you touch the cover it’s kind of rough. But in the inside there’s smooth white paper. The inside is filled with drawings I drew when I was little. The smell just smells like regular old paper.
The first thing I remember was when they were handing it out to all the art club kids, since it was the last day of art club. It was really sweet that he handed me that book because it was directly from him. He didn’t tell us what we had to draw. He let us be creative. My sister was also happy because it was her last year there. After that, I knew it would be different with the new teacher. She wasn’t that good of a teacher. He was. It was just so special because they only accepted kids from third grade and up. So, I was the first kid to enter that was in second grade. And it’s not just special because of that, but that art teacher left the school, so I never saw him again. He taught me that it doesn’t matter if you mess up, it’s art. When I heard he was leaving, it was really sad for me and my sister. We really missed him when he left. But that never stopped me from drawing. I don’t use it that often like I used to. I just found it again, and I began drawing again. And it reminds me of my teacher. What I’m filling the pages with now looks different than what I used to. But right now, it’s in my backpack.