Present and Absent

Art, History and Untaught Lessons

The sound of hitting the puddle, not the instrument panel, told him the car was going too fast.

Lawrence smiled, slowed down, wanted to hit the gas again.

His first ever job as a substitute art teacher.

He remembered hitting the stage at Boombah’s in college, the sound of his Marshall amp like a freight train rolling through a gravel pit, the drunken cheers. 

This was going to be better.

Young freshmen minds, young creative minds, his for two hours.

He prepared for a little bullshit-all subs got it, he knew- but this lesson had been on his mind since his freshmen year of college. Everyone he told about it loved it, and he’d use his natural stage presence to cut through the substitute hazing.

A roll call, a couple well-timed jokes and he had ‘em.

Smooth as a Vegas comedian who had worked the same tourist room for a decade. Then he dropped the assignment on them, four rows of six, forty-eight eyes under fluorescent lights, (one flickering slightly)  looking up at him.

“Imagine,” Lawrence said, “ that you are the founder of a new religious sect or the leader of a startup corporation. Your choice. Using any medium, for the next two hours, design and refine a logo that represents your new sect or corporation.

Lawrence knew the murmurs were excited, positive. He smiled slightly not wanting to let on how overjoyed he was to have finally given the assignment out loud.

A hand shot up.

“Yes…Paisley, correct?”

The student smiled. “Yes, thank you for remembering but…” Their face melted into a scowl. “ … What if we don’t believe in an all-powerful deity or capitalism?”

Like playing unerringly through a broken string, Lawrence answered “Your sect can be based on atheistic beliefs, or your group can be a collective of makers not tied to capitalist ideals. It’s yours. Design the logo and tell me what you think the logo represents. Work individually or in groups. If you go as a group I want to see individual concepts from each member before one is presented. I’m here for any questions. Most of all, have fun and trust your own creative process.”

The next hour was a series of interrupted phone games, a near scuffle between Musk lovers and Marx lovers, a student excused for a possible in-throat puke, a fall out of a leaned back chair. Pretty much everything Lawrence had expected but wiped out of his idealized vision of his first day on the job.

He himself managed to Rapidograph doodle some logos for an art therapy consulting service.

Ten minutes before the end of the first hour, he announced that he would walk through and do some progress checks.

There were groans, some eager looks and an offer to “check my dope shit now.”

At the top of the hour, Lawrence stood and strolled through the rows of tables.

A shy student threw themselves on top of their work and Lawrence politely changed course, heading for the student who boasted of his dopeness.

The logo, a nearly photorealistic octopus spinning balls for the student’s imaginary basketball camp, was indeed, Lawrence thought,  dope AF.

There were some students who could forget careers in graphic design, a tablet that looked suspiciously like the logo was digitally pilfered from an existing corporation, and the Musk fans had created a stylized G for a galaxy hopping tourist endeavor.

Lawrence entered the fourth row almost feverish with the joy of his dream assignment becoming a reality.

Paisley’s greyscale vines representing her deity-less collective were dour but passable.

Then Lawrence walked over to the corner…Sam, that was it, Sam, with too much curly hair for two heads and a birthmark on his face reminiscent of Drew Brees.

And Sam had drawn, in decently angled, two-dimensional perspective, with black and purple pencils, a swastika.

Lawrence trembled.

When Tony had called him to work he gave Lawrence pertinent information like potential eating disorders, kids who were medicated, a recent family death that might produce some tears. He did not mention anything about…this.

Lawrence leaned in. He wanted to put his arm around the kid to let him know he was serious, but he was shaken.

“Not cool. Destroy it. Start over.”

Sam looked up at Lawrence. 

“Destroy it? You didn’t tell anyone else to destroy theirs.”

“None of them…” Lawrence hesitated, couldn’t say what he wanted to say, knew his voice would rise beyond acceptable levels.

“Better yet, I’ll take it. You start over.”

“You didn’t even ask me what it represents,” Sam said voice cracking.

Paisley scooted over and Lawrence snatched the piece of sketch paper off  the table, haphazardly rolling it and shoving it in the left front pocket of his jeans

“You know what it represents, Sam. And it’s not cool. At all.”

“It’s a logo for Sam Sullivan Construction. See how it’s made out of steel and stone? You didn’t even look! Why are you picking on me?” The kid’s voice nearly disintegrated, and his head drooped, curly hair cascading over his face.

Lawrence put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure if it was comfort or control, but his hand was there now.

“Sam, swastikas aren’t cool. Not for any reason. I’m…I’m sorry. Please start over.”

“I don’t even know what a smasiker is!” 

“He drew a swastika?” Paisley said. “That’s messed up.”

Lawrence pivoted to Paisley and put a finger to his lips.

“Please, wait, ok, maybe he…”

“He was homeschooled,” Paisley said, “but I didn’t know they were Nazis.”

Lawrence could feel his balls sweating.

“He’s not a Nazi, he just, I umm…Sam, please create a new logo.”

“What’s a swazzika?” The kid’s face looked truly pained and confused.

Lawrence said “c’mon,” and led Sam out into the hallway.

Whatever a 14-year-old kid who was into Nazism might look like, Lawrence didn’t think the kid fit any of the outward signs. But if the parents were into it…

“You were homeschooled, buddy?”

Lawrence knelt so he could see up under Sam’s bushy hair and so he wouldn’t be intimidating

“Yes. This is my first month at real school.”

“What kinda stuff did you learn in homeschool?” Lawrence asked.

“All the important stuff,” Sam said confidently. “The Bible, Math, and Reading.”

Lawrence softened even further. If the kid was radicalized he sure was mellow and not defensive. He just looked confused.

“You didn’t learn any history?”

Sam straightened and his face got sterner.

“I just told you I learned the Bible. That’s history.”

“You didn’t learn anything about World War II?”

Sam was quiet, but Lawrence could tell he was thinking.
“I know America won. Can I have my drawing back? I might use it if I have a construction company when I grow up.”

Lawrence had a cinderblock where his stomach used to be.

The way things are going, Lawrence thought, someone just might let him.

“I’d prefer you draw a different logo, Sam, really.”

Sam still looked confused.

“That image represents terrible things, Sam. You’ll learn one day, soon. In fact, Lawrence said, whipping out his phone, “let’s Google it and do some reading.”

Sam shook his head side to side, hair whipping audibly.

“No sir, I’m not allowed to use the internet. My parents think it’s a tool of the devil.”

Lawrence clenched his hand around the now glowing screen and shoved the phone in his breast pocket.

“Let’s go draw a fresh logo.”

“I like that logo,” Sam said in a distinctly classic juvenile whine.

Lawrence bit his lip. He wondered where the school library was.

“ If I draw the same logo again,” Sam asked, “ am I gonna get an F?”

“No,” Lawrence said. “I am.”

***

Photo Courtesy of Getty Images