It Wasn’t Just What He Drew, It Was What He Said
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He replied in this old, raspy voice, ‘Gotta draw my own milkshake because it’s taking too long.’ The family lost it while the mom scolded him.”
He’ll Never Hang Out With Her And Her Friends Again
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“When I was in college, my much older sister invited me to dinner at this Italian restaurant with her husband and friends.
I knew no one. I was a nerdy college student and my sister worked as a dentist and my brother-in-law was a banker. I had no conversation connections to them or their friends.
After sitting awkwardly quiet for several minutes, I noticed crayons on the table. I picked them up and colored a random rainbow design on the butcher paper tablecloth. None of the other dinner guests acknowledged my drawing. I just doodled and doodled as they discussed the adult world.
Soon later, the waiter came over to refresh our drinks. He noticed my rainbow doodle and immediately started to fawn over my design: ‘This a fabulous piece of art! We are going to display this masterpiece on the BIG fridge in our kitchen!’
The waiter then takes the butcher paper and tears it into two sections. He takes my weird little drawing back to the kitchen.
This is the moment when my sister leans over to me and whispers: ‘The waiter thinks you are mentally handicapped.’
I was so embarrassed.”
It Wasn’t What She Drew, But What It Meant To Her
“I was waiting in a local Mexican restaurant for my (very late) date to show up. I was dinking around on my phone when the only other person in the room – a little girl of around 4 – started talking to me. Her mom was a server there and her dad was a cook. She hung out in that waiting area (kind of like a small living room) and colored when her parents worked the same shift.
At one point, I saw her scribble a name at the top and sprint off to the kitchen saying, ‘I’m going to give this to someone. Watch my stuff!’ I did. She came back a minute later, dragging her feet and still holding the ripped-out page of her coloring book. ‘She said she already has too many from today,’ she said sullenly.
‘Well I didn’t get one yet,’ I replied.
‘Oh! What’s your name?’ She put her crayon down on the page as if to write my name, but must have gotten impatient since she crossed out the other name and handed it to me. She was so proud she went and told the original recipient that the picture found a home. My date arrived as the little girl came back, so I said goodbye and tucked the picture away to avoid the mole sauce.
I still have the picture somewhere.”
A True Hero
“I used to pick up my nephew regularly from his infant’s school as his mother, my sister, is a waste of space. We’d always go to the same restaurant after school to have a little one-on-one time. One day, our waitress pulled me to the side and pulled out a picture he had drawn. It took me a moment to realize what I was seeing before it focused into a picture of a woman with blood surrounding her and needles scattered around. The waitress was very concerned and I mean borderline calling police and social services and not letting him leave with me.
I asked my nephew, who was about 6 at the time, what was this about. He explained this was what his mommy looked like most nights. I broke down crying, the waitress broke down crying, then I called social services myself from the manager’s office. They placed him in my care as a temporary measure and investigated.
Turns out, my sister had started to take opioids via needles and accidentally broke a vein one night, hence the blood. Now, six years later, I don’t know if she is clean, but my nephew lives with me and my family as if he is my own and he has never been happier.
Still, my nephew did miss meals and went to school in dirty clothes a couple of times before the opioids were involved and each time it happened, I would take him to my home with my wife and kids and make excuses for my sister’s behavior. We would help by having him for a few nights, get him new clothes, make sure he ate, paid for his school dinners, etc. In the end, we were hurting him more by doing these things, then just sending him back to her to start again a few weeks later. Please remember, this was a 5/6-year-old boy who had to learn that sometimes Mommy couldn’t feed him when he got home because she didn’t care enough. I have honestly tried to make her a part of his life but was met with complete disinterest.
I am still really thankful to that waitress for having noticed the drawing before it was thrown away.”