My parents split up around age five. Maybe I was six. I recall my mom being around for the beginning of Kindergarten but not the end of it. Definitely by grade one though. I don’t recall being horrifically traumatized by it. Some may argue that. Instead I mostly kept myself occupied with normal kid things like jumping off jungle gyms and such.

First grade was mostly uneventful as far as promoting my art career. But come second grade the world was changing. Cable TV was new to town. Us kids were finally old enough to start travelling unsupervised to and from friends houses (within a few block radius). And we began grand adventures in the woods and vacant lots. That is why I find movies like STAND BY ME and shows like STRANGER THINGS so appealing. We lived those adventures. I can’t tell you how many dragons and other monsters I battled before the adults eradicated them all.

Anyway, it was in that era when I started getting scheduled to see the school guidance counselor. In high school the guidance counselor was helpful for continuing education assistance. But in the elementary days if someone got sent to the guidance counselor it meant they had problems. Back then coming from a “broken home” wasn’t as common as it was soon to become. My parents getting divorced got me mandatory time with the counselor.

At that age we were discovering that doing classwork kinda sucked. So I was okay with getting pulled out of class for these meetings.

I never really got to know the guidance counselor. Can’t even recall her name. She wasn’t on site and had to travel to our school and others in the district from the main office at the Slatington school. My worldview wasn’t that big at the time. To me the Slatington school might as well have been on another planet. So I’m sure as a shy kid I wasn’t readily opening up to this stranger.

Here is what was done:

At Walnutport elementary there was a supply closet between the first and second grade classrooms. It was a narrow room crammed full of stuff that always felt like it might avalanche down on you (I found a random pic that mostly resembles this room). Why this room? It still baffles me, but this was where I was seated at a desk for meetings with the guidance counselor.

In this closet was a bunch of art supplies. Somehow the counselor figured out that I liked to draw and she would give me supplies and just let me go. I don’t recall what I drew back then but that was all I really did in those sessions. Eventually the sessions ended for good and I never seen the guidance counselor ever again. Maybe they decided that I didn’t really need any help. Or maybe they gave up on a lost cause. Or maybe too many parents were starting to get divorced and the guidance office was spread too thin. Or maybe it was me who expressed an interest in not continuing. Peer pressure was at a premium at that age. I’m sure I was seen as the weirdo getting pulled out of class for “therapy.” I’m not sure what really happened there. But before long I was back to boring old classwork. Learning how to write cursive and all that other crap with everyone else.

It did net me some quality hours working towards my career goals. Even if I didn’t know it at the time.