Novelas y relatos de Encouraging Drawings

Most were backwards, some floating off the lines entirely. I nodded. “Let me see.” I took the sheet from his small hands. “This one is perfect,” I said, pointing to the only straight letter on the whole page. His face lit up instantly. Kids that age only needed one good thing pointed out. And they’d bloom with it. “Okay, everyone,” I said, clapping once. “Pick a color and draw something that made you smile this morning.” “Can we draw our squirrel?” a girl asked. “If your squirrel made you smile, yes,” I answered, amused.

And I was sure my fear was definitely warranted. After what seemed like forever, I finally managed to unwrap the present and a gasp slipped from my lips. "Drawing pencils," I whispered in awe. "He got me drawing pencils." The set of pencils, every artist's dream! They sat pretty in my hands, their different shades staring up at me. Attached to the Pencil case was a note. My heart melted as I read it. "Never stop drawing." My heart melted. How could it do anything otherwise? He had gotten me pencils. He wanted me to keep drawing. Here was a man who supported my dreams and made me want to become something more.

“Are you still drawing?” I blinked. “Yeah… I mean, kind of. Some freelance stuff here and there.” “he’s being modest,” my mom cut in proudly. “River’s drawings were featured in that art walk last month. People couldn’t stop talking about that one with the fog and the tree.” “It was beautiful,” Elliot added, nodding. “I saw it on I*******m.” “Thanks,” I said quietly, feeling heat rise in my face. “I just… like messing with paints.”

In⁠stead‍ everything a⁠round Liam became complicate‍d and emotional Noah suddenly ran⁠ into t⁠he office holding p⁠apers‍ excitedly. ‍“Look!” Av‌a b‍linked at the drawing he‍ shoved toward them. Three badly drawn stic‍k f⁠igures stood together holding hands. One had⁠ brown hair. One had black h⁠air‍. One smaller‌ figu⁠r‌e stood betwe⁠en t‍hem s‍mil‍ing. At t‌he top, writ‌ten in childish handwriting, we⁠re fou‍r words.

Even with everything going on, they found joy in the smallest things like a storybook, a bean plant, a teacher’s praise. “Mama?” Mabel’s voice broke into my thoughts. “Yes, sweetheart?” “Can we bring some of our drawings to show Grandma when she comes home?” I smiled, warmth spreading through me at her thoughtfulness, “I think she’d love that. Why don’t we pick out a few after breakfast?” Mabel grinned, and Miles nodded eagerly, his cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk.

Just let m help you Siren, let me turn your art to something beautiful,” handing me a piece of paper. I hesitantly took it from her hand. “You are not alone,” I unfolded the piece of paper with familiar drawing. It was a drawing of a baby inside a sunflower. In fact it was Chu. “Think about it,"

Victor stepped back just enough to appear as though he had only just arrived. Silas collided gently into his leg. “Victor!” Victor forced a warm smile. “Hey there, champion.” Silas held up the drawing proudly. “I made this.” Victor took the paper slowly. Three stick figures. A family. His gaze lingered on the third figure longer than necessary. “Very nice,” he said calmly. Silas pointed to the drawing. “I’m trying to figure out who this one is.” Victor’s smile held steady. “I see.” Silas nodded.

But the drawing was too messy that no one could tell which figure was Brother Lionel and Momo. However, the most important thing in educating a child was to build confidence. Even if Little Karen's drawing didn't look nice at all, Karen Daly still nodded and gave her a thumbs-up. "You're so great! The drawing is really beautiful!" "Mom, I'll give this to Brother Lionel!" Little Karen grabbed the drawing that she had just drawn. It was obviously a mess but she felt very satisfied after her mom's compliment as if she had drawn the most beautiful art in the world.

“Liam, why don’t you show Mr. Ethan the drawing you made? The one from yesterday.” “Oh!” The boy brightened, dashing to the coffee table. He returned with a folded paper and handed it to Ethan. Ethan unfolded it carefully. The picture was rough, colorful — a child’s imagination rendered in crayons. It showed three stick figures: a woman, a man, and a little boy holding both their hands under a bright yellow sun. His chest tightened. “It’s… beautiful,” he murmured. “You drew this?” Liam nodded proudly. “That’s me, Mommy, and—” he hesitated, glancing up at Maya before finishing, “—and you.”

Leo cheered, skidding to a halt beside my chair and thrusting the paper right into my lap. I looked down at the drawing, a soft, involuntary smile breaking across my face. It was drawn in bold, vibrant colors. In the center was a stone castle with blue flags on the turrets. Standing in the grass out front were three stick-figure people holding hands. On the left was a figure with black hair in a red dress labeled Mommy. On the right was a broad figure colored in black crayon labeled Mr. Tyson. And right between them, holding both of their hands with a yellow smiley face, was a smaller figure labeled Leo.