JUNE 2024 - Show and Tell

In 1965 I had a grant from the Mental Health Association to help improve the self-image of inner-city children in low-income neighborhoods. To stimulate the children’s imagination and creativity, I used a combination of drama, storytelling, puppetry, painting, sculpting and props, always encouraging the children to feel good about what they made, what they did, and to tell their stories with confidence. 

At the end of a meeting with first graders, I asked the children to bring in something they wanted to show to the group and to tell us a little about why they brought what they did. I assured them that whatever they chose to bring would be fine. They peppered me with questions: Is this all right?” “Can I bring that?” “How big?” “How small?” I told them there was no right or wrong choice—to bring whatever they felt like sharing with the class.

At the beginning of the show and tell session, children gathered in a circle holding their possessions, looking at what each had brought. Lots of stuffed animals. Some artwork. A few dolls. 

One by one, some shy, some too excited to speak clearly, others almost rehearsed, they shared their treasures. One child remained silent, holding something covered in a rumpled cloth close to her chest, attentive to what was said, but never offering to participate.

When all the other children had gone, everyone looked at her. Several of them said, “Your turn.” She remained as quiet as she’d been all morning. Up until today she had eagerly participated, full of energy, quick to respond, often smiling as she talked and sang and danced, depending on the activity. Now, given the change in her behavior, I wondered if I should encourage her to share what she’d brought or let her pass. 

The other children did not share my wonder. They began chanting, “Your turn. Your turn.” She looked at me.

“It’s your choice,” I told her. “If you don’t want to share what you brought, that’s okay.”

“We want to see it,” a number of children hollered. Six-year-olds are not always kind or sensitive.

She bit her lip, then said, “Okay. If you want to see what I brought, I’ll show you.” She carefully took the worn fabric off the doll she was holding. It had threadbare fabric arms and legs and head, tangled braids, with faded painted eyes, nose, and mouth. It was dressed in clothing that was inexpertly patched. “This is my beautiful doll. My gramma made it for me.” 

Before she could continue to explain why she’d brought it, a boy countered, “It’s not beautiful.”

“It’s ugly,” said a girl. Others chimed in, making fun of the face, the hair, that it was old . . .  

I was about to intervene when the child spoke up.

Unfazed, she said, “That’s because you don’t see it with my eyes.”


What does beautiful mean to you?

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JUNE 2024 Monthly Stories