Showing posts with label C. Cullingford. Show all posts
Showing posts with label C. Cullingford. Show all posts
Sunday, February 17, 2008
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Reflections on Child Abuse and Neglect
One Child's Way: On Using Reading, Writing and Art to Survive Child Abuse and Neglect.
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About the Scarecrow Child
Reflections on Child Abuse and Neglect
The ScareCrow Child
came to be from an abused and neglected child's imagination and her identification with the Wizard of Oz's Scarecrow. As with her namesake, the young girl was afraid of many things. Like him she also believed that if only she had a brain, she could make everything right in her world.
The Scarecrow Child was too young to understand the Wizard's sarcasm about people who only need a piece of paper to make others think they have a brain. Suspecting her head might already be filled with straw, the Scarecrow Child decided that paper was what she had to have if ever she could have a brain.
So she did everything as perfectly as she could, in school, and out. She studied. She completed extra assignments. She listened. She read. She drew and painted. She wrote pages and pages of stuff teachers said nice things about and college instructors said no one ever would want to read.
But every time she earned yet another piece of paper, she still felt as scared and brainless as ever. People who claimed they had the right papers always told her, "Well, you need this one!" So, what could she do? She went after another one.
Many years passed as the Scarecrow Child read ever more books that fewer and fewer people read. She made more and more art that she gave away. She wrote ever more papers no one would ever read. She learned things almost no one wanted to know. The stacks of papers that meant less and less, grew higher. Finally, someone said, "When you have this last one, you'll know you have a brain!"
With that, the Scarecrow Child bundled together all the papers and set off on a road paved with gold, towards a city where everything reflects the color of green that some say makes everything happen. As she neared the gates of the city, the yellow brick road ran out.
Standing in mud, with no clear way to continue, the Scarecrow Child sat on the big bundle of papers to think a bit. Well, she thought, I might not have a brain, but that doesn't mean I'm dumb enough to carry all these useless papers back to where I began this journey.
Which is why some of her writings are posted here for anyone interested in reading them...just because, of course...along with photo's of some of the art she made along the way...
The Scarecrow Child was too young to understand the Wizard's sarcasm about people who only need a piece of paper to make others think they have a brain. Suspecting her head might already be filled with straw, the Scarecrow Child decided that paper was what she had to have if ever she could have a brain.
So she did everything as perfectly as she could, in school, and out. She studied. She completed extra assignments. She listened. She read. She drew and painted. She wrote pages and pages of stuff teachers said nice things about and college instructors said no one ever would want to read.
But every time she earned yet another piece of paper, she still felt as scared and brainless as ever. People who claimed they had the right papers always told her, "Well, you need this one!" So, what could she do? She went after another one.
Many years passed as the Scarecrow Child read ever more books that fewer and fewer people read. She made more and more art that she gave away. She wrote ever more papers no one would ever read. She learned things almost no one wanted to know. The stacks of papers that meant less and less, grew higher. Finally, someone said, "When you have this last one, you'll know you have a brain!"
With that, the Scarecrow Child bundled together all the papers and set off on a road paved with gold, towards a city where everything reflects the color of green that some say makes everything happen. As she neared the gates of the city, the yellow brick road ran out.
Standing in mud, with no clear way to continue, the Scarecrow Child sat on the big bundle of papers to think a bit. Well, she thought, I might not have a brain, but that doesn't mean I'm dumb enough to carry all these useless papers back to where I began this journey.
Which is why some of her writings are posted here for anyone interested in reading them...just because, of course...along with photo's of some of the art she made along the way...
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