Do-Over: Bunnies on the Wall

I’ve managed to become the bass player in a local band in Antananarivo. More on that soon. What’s relevant to this post is that the band has provided me with a passport into the fancy homes of a couple of expatriates—a couple of trips down a rabbit hole, so to speak.

For example: We played a private party the other day at the home of Καραθανάσης Γεώργιος (who I know as Georgios).

It was a special occasion: Georgios’ 43rd birthday. When I rounded the corner into the luxurious back yard, I noticed a pool, a hot tub, tiki torches, waiters serving drinks, a 20-foot-tall scale model of the Acropolis, and a few kids drawing on the white wall of Georgios’ house—in magic marker.

The reach of the tallest child at the party was indicated by a crudely-drawn jack-o-lantern, partially scribbled out as though the artist were disappointed in his or her effort. Then I was told that adults were invited to write birthday greetings on the wall.

I drew two bunnies, which will remain inexplicable to the birthday boy (unless he reads this).

See, the kids; the fancy house; the invitation to draw on a wall with impunity gave me flashback.

I was probably five years old, in my room in Lakewood, Colorado. Maybe I was supposed to be napping, but instead I felt like drawing. Drawing bunnies, specifically.

I drew two bunnies on the wall of my room, just above the level of my bed. I was pretty pleased with them. When my mother was available, I couldn’t wait to show them to her.

“Look, Mommy! I made bunnies! Which one do you like best?”

“AAAAAAAGGGGGHHHH! You drew on the wall!”

Uh oh.

She continued, “Don’t ever draw on the wall again! Ever! Ever! Ever! Ever!”

“Okay, but…”

“Ever! Ever! Ever! Ever! Ever! Ever! Ever!”

“Excuse me, but…”

“Ever! Ever! Ever! Ever! Ever! Ever! Ever!”

Granted, I was young, and my recollection of this conversation may not be verbatim.

At some point she stopped to inhale, and I got a word in.

“But which one do you like the best?”

“I don’t like either of them! They’re on the wall!”

I tried to reason with her.

“Yes. But if you had to choose, which one…?”

“None!”

I cut my losses with this discussion, and conceded the point—though disingenuously. What are you gonna do?

But I learned an important lesson that day. My mother taught me that in order to escape oppression, one must abandon the bias of normative dualism—not just in art, but in ethics and epistemology.

Still…

Which bunny do you like best?