One would think Mrs. Butterbalm would nurture the budding artist in me but she didn't let me paint again.

I knew from a young age that I loved to draw and color but didn't know I had a talent until I was in kindergarten. In my class, which seemed very large to my little five year old mind, my teacher Mrs. Butterbalm (I am not sure if that was her name but it is the way I remember it) had set up free-time stations; art easels for painting, building blocks, a play house area with an oven, sink and stove and coloring area and couple of others that I know were there but do not remember. Some how in the two months since school had started I had yet to experience the "painting area" and once there I did not want to leave. I remember creating an image of a black cat wearing a witches hat on an orange background; I can still see it in my mind! Mrs. Butterbalm was very impressed and sent a nice letter home along with my painting. One would think Mrs. Butterbalm would nurture the budding artist in me but she didn't let me paint again; I understood about taking turns but when more than a week had gone and she kept telling me no while insisting that I go play house, I became very very upset. So upset that the next time my teacher told me to go "play house" I started crying and crawled into the oven declaring that I was pumpkin pie and would not come out. They had to call my mother to come get me. My mother did not like Mrs. Butterbalm and I do not think Mrs. Butterbalm liked her; my mother was very pretty while Mrs. Butterbalm looked like Margaret Thatcher but there was more; at the beginning of the school year Mrs. Butterbalm sent a letter home informing my mother that I was left handed and that she would be "switching me over". My mother blew a gasket and stormed in telling her that under no condition was she to try and make me right handed! I did get a scolding from my parents; so did Mrs. Butterbalm. I am not sure what was said but after that day I was given equal time at the easel.