“Mommy I just love to paint! Can I paint at home, and not just in school?” A beautiful seven year old girl asked her mom when she came inside from the bus stop. She had art class today, which was her favorite part of school.
“We don’t have the stuff you need to paint, and we don’t have the money to get it.” Her mother replied.
“ I’ll ask for it for Christmas and maybe Santa will get me some. Then could I?”
“ Sara darling I’m on the phone.”
Christmas came and went and to her surprise she got paints from her grandma. Her curls danced happily around her face as she jumped up in down. She waited a few days to ask her mommy if she could paint. Anytime it was busy mommy always said no to her.
“Mommy can I paint?”
“No it’s far too messy, and I don’t feel like making sure your little brothers don’t get into the paint.”
She asked at least once a week for a while, but eventually as the paint brushes sat and the colors were left unopened, the little girl stopped asking.
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“Monica I know you love to wear your tutu and dance around the house, but with my work schedule I can’t take you to a ballet class. As it is I work two jobs and ballet is expensive.” Monica’s father replied.
He did work a lot, and with the divorce his ex-wife was taking even more money he needed. He would love nothing more then to indulge every whim of his daughters, but he couldn’t see spending so much money on something she will get bored of in a few months.
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“Billy, quit destroying everything in my house to build these things! My sweeper is now garbage!”
He knew he shouldn’t have done that, but he couldn’t help it. He had all these cool ideas in his head about different things he could built.
“I’m so tired of getting yelled at I should just give up.” He muttered to himself.
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Sara sat in the lunch room with her work friends Monica and Billy. They all hated their jobs, but stayed year in and year out. Each of them regretted Mondays, and couldn’t wait till Fridays.
“I would try to search for another job, but honestly I don’t think I will be much happier anywhere else.” Sara grumbled.
“I know what you mean. It doesn’t matter where I work. A job is a job.” Billy added.
“ I wish we were like other people who had dreams in life.”
“Like a famous painter.”
“An inventor..”
“Or maybe a ballerina.”
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