The mom who lived right across the street from us in Milwaukee, Harry’s friend Erica’s mother, asked me one afternoon if I saved all of Harry’s artwork. My seven-year-old sonlooked up to hear my answer. “Yes,” I lied, hating myself for being dishonest. I saw Harry nod and turn back to Erica and the Polly Pockets.
After finding massive amounts of Harry’s artwork in my hometown storage site last month, it was hard to believe I’d ever thrown anything away! There were three bathtub-sized bins of art he’d made at home, at school or in the afterschool program. And that wasn’t counting the portfolio of his AP high school art or the huge retrospective of work his dad took when I packed up the house five years ago before my move to New York.
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