I envied my siblings dressed in uniforms and led to school by my mom, whom I could decipher wore a tired and hopeless look. Many times, when she was stressed from my inconveniences, she would speak to me in harsh tones that would immediately cause me to cry as a reaction. My days were often solemn, and loneliness was my regrettable companion. My dad was mostly not at home; he seemed to be the busier of my parents, yet he tried his best whenever he was around.
"Mom! See what James did to my notebook." Jude walked angrily to Mom, waving his school notebook. I had to wriggle some incomprehensible writing in my attempt to write like I usually see Jude do. From his reaction and what I saw in his notebook, I had done it wrong, and he did not hide his feelings to show how pissed he was. My mom apologized to him and hugged him while I sat on the sofa, and in my hand was the pen I had used to stir the previously calm atmosphere into disruption. I stared in pain and horror as my brother enjoyed the love and care while my attempt to write like others was not acknowledged.
"I'll get you a new notebook, darling. Forgive your brother, okay?" My mom pacified my brother, while I withdrew further into my loneliness and regression.
My last visit to a specialist was four months ago. Perhaps mom and dad got tired of taking me around to find solutions, or maybe I had drained their finances and were tired of fighting. Mom's young brother, Uncle Dave, happened to be my favorite relative other than my siblings; whenever he came around, he surely had a gift for me, and our walks out of the house in the cool of the evenings were ones I always looked forward to.
This Christmas period was unusually low-key; my dad kept complaining about not having money, and at one point, I noticed Jude and Jane arrived home from school earlier than usual. Later on, I heard they were sent home because of prolonged tuition indebtedness. My worries were minimal, and I tried not to be a burden to my parents, as I felt they had enough on their shoulders to carry already.
"Hello champ!" Uncle Dave, as he popularly called me, in his usual baritone voice, startled me from behind as he came visiting for Christmas. My shock quickly dissipated into excitement as I threw my arms open for a hug. I wish I could pour out my flooded thoughts to him, but I was helpless, as I was hopeless. "Somebody missed me." He continued as he sat me down on the sofa in the sitting room. My eyes eagerly pierced into his, wondering what he had brought for me this time around. Slowly and stylishly, he brought a neatly wrapped gift, which he graced me to unravel by myself. My mom walked in just in time to see me unwrapping my gift, my heart racing faster than my hands. Voila! It was a crayon box, and my inquisitiveness peaked as I picked a stick from the box. I touched the box with the stick in my hand, and my eyes glowed in excitement as I saw the color the stick left behind on the box. I picked another and then another, enjoying the sight and feel of different sticks from the crayon box. "This is awesome!" I thought to myself, smiling, and stretched my hands out to Uncle Dave for another hug.
The next few days had me engrossed in my new-found companion, and through the guidance of mom and dad whenever they had time, I began to make sketches that had meaning to reality. The many sights I had captured in my mind were gradually put on the drawing book my dad purchased for me to practice with. My mom's face became more cheerful in the following days as she saw the improvement I showed with my artistic designs. The following year, my parents enrolled me in a school for the gifted where children with disabilities were. It took a while for me to adjust, but my talent in art was soon noticed, and I became the lead favorite student of the school, representing myself competitively with other normal students. I'm in college now, and my gratitude goes to Uncle Dave, who gifted me the crayon box, leading to my expression of talent on paper.
