Adie Shickelgruber was a young Austrian living in Germany. With all of his heart, he wanted to be a painter. He could paint buildings and “still life.” His shadows were very strong, and his sense of color coordination was not half bad, but he couldn't paint people.
He was unable to get fluidity in his work. He applied to three art schools and was not only turned down, but was greeted with ridicule and treated with contempt. He received no encouragement and finally surrendered his dream in favor of politics. He did away with his name, as it was too long to fit on a ballot. His new name, Adolf Hitler, not only fit on the ballot, but to make things easier, he eventually did away with the entire ballot!
Think about it. One compassionate, dedicated art teacher could have saved us from World War II. I believe with all my heart that that person was alive but did not fulfill his or her destiny for being on the planet.
In the mid '80s, a young man arrived at our school, having just moved from the Midwest to California.
Needless to say, the culture shock was intense.
Think back to your days in Junior High. I am sure you will recall how all the social groups were well established and tight by mid term.
Henry was a soccer player, but all the teams had been formed.
So, being thrown into a new life style where new people were not openly welcomed and being unable to participate in his favorite sport, Henry was fast descending into a deepening depression.
His parents, wishing to cheer him up, took him shopping for new clothes. Now, in Henry's community back home, all the boys had yellow sweat suits. So his parents picked him out a brand new one.
The kids at our school had never seen a yellow sweat suit, so when Henry got out of his parents' car in front of the school, he was greeted with ridicule and name calling. Three girls especially led the parade of put downs, and made up some scathing nick names.
After my third period preparation class, I was walking toward my car, when Henry stormed out of his classroom and almost ran into me. I saw the mixture of anger and terror in his eyes. Grabbing him by the arm, I asked where he was going.
“Let me go, Mr. Schlatter, I mean it!” he shouted.
Letting him go anywhere at that moment would probably have been the worst possible thing to do. I almost carried him to the counselor's office, where two wise counselors quickly sized up the situation. Within one hour we... Continue
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