Granny Scolds Girl for Odd Drawings until Famous Cartoonist Appears at Their Doorstep – Story of the Day

Martha despised her little granddaughter’s drawings and scolded her every time she saw her draw. That was until a man in a crisp suit showed up at their doorstep and said something that made the older woman run to her granddaughter’s room.

“Hello, I’m Mr. Carlos, and…I’m here for Amy! If my memory serves me right, this must be her address. And you must be her grandmother…her only guardian.”

Martha frowned at the sight of a man in a luxe suit standing on her doorstep. Her hands went to her hips in frustration, and she scowled at him.

“What have you got to do with my granddaughter, you old man?” she fumed. “Has she caused trouble again?”

Mr. Carlos’s smile turned into a look of confusion. “No, no, that’s not the case, ma’am. In fact, I’m here to offer her a deal. Can I meet her?”

“Meet her?” Martha sneered. “Meet her for what?”

“Uh, it’s about her drawings,” Mr. Carlos said. “I must admit her talent surprised me, ma’am. I’m afraid you didn’t recognize me. I’m the famous cartoonist, Carlos. And I’m…”

He leaned closer to Martha and whispered, “I’m here to offer Amy a deal worth a million dollars!”

“Amy’s drawings are worth a million?” Martha gasped in shock. “Those odd things she draws? How, but…she—she doesn’t draw anymore! She did enough of that. Got color splashed and smeared all over my walls! But Amy stopped drawing six months ago, and I was the one who ripped—”

Martha’s gut churned with guilt, and she couldn’t afford to look into Mr. Carlos’ eyes. But she quickly composed herself.

“How—How do you know Amy and me?” Martha asked. “And her drawings…That child loved to draw, but she really doesn’t do it anymore, sir.”

“Well, ma’am, I’m sure she does draw, and her talent is worth recognizing. I received a submission from her a month ago,” Mr. Carlos said and opened his briefcase.

He held out a file to Martha, and as the older woman saw what was inside, her hands went to her mouth. She resisted the urge to cry.

“I’ll—I’ll be back in a second. Please excuse me,” Martha sniffled and rushed to her granddaughter’s room.

Six months ago…

“You are not drawing, Amy! You hear me?” Martha was boiling in rage and ripped off the artwork on Amy’s desk. Then she emptied out Amy’s drawer, collected the only pack of colors and a few drawing sheets lying in there, and tossed everything in the trash can outside their home.

When she returned, Martha saw Amy was in tears and standing in the living room, staring at her.

“Gammy, I…” the little girl sniffled. “I…I want to draw.”

“What had we discussed, Amy?” Martha fumed. “I have strictly told you there won’t be any drawing going on here, and you still had the audacity to hide from me and draw? Who got you those colors? Did you steal money, Amy?”

“Gammy…I…” Amy started crying before she could finish, and while Martha’s heart ached to see her little granddaughter in tears, she couldn’t comfort her. She couldn’t hug Amy and tell her that drawing was not that big of a deal. Every kid drew. And some loved it, just like Amy.

But Martha despised art. And she hated it when Amy drew. She had thrown away all the art material from Amy’s room when the little girl came to her one day and said she would become a painter when she grew up.

Martha was terrified that day. She was the hope in Amy’s eyes, and she knew she had to stop her granddaughter before it was too late.

“Go back to your room, Amy! And I don’t want to see you drawing! You get that?” Martha swallowed the angry tears rising in her eyes, and Amy was too sad to say anything.

She hung her head and began leaving as Martha said, “I hate those odd things you draw! They scare me!”

As she was finally left alone, Martha slumped on the couch and buried her face in her palms. She couldn’t help but recall the day that made her hate art.

80-year-old Martha shares her story…

I hated it whenever my granddaughter painted or drew. I did. But before you judge me, hear me out.

Edward, Amy’s dad, and my son, was also a painter. He had this talent for art, and I never understood where he got it from.

Back in the 90s, my husband worked in a sawmill and did hard labor to support our family. Art was beyond his understanding. I was a housewife and so busy looking after the home and my three children that I didn’t have time for anything else. Art was never my thing, either.

But Edward had this talent in him to draw. Beautifully. There was something about how he looked at something and presented it as art on a blank canvas.

But when my husband died, and I couldn’t support the family alone, that art became a curse for my family. It didn’t bring in any money, and I was growing old. My other two daughters were married, and I couldn’t ask their husbands to support us. My daughters were homemakers, too.

Edward was an adult, and I asked him to get a ‘real’ job that could keep us afloat. But he never listened to me. He was confident he would make his name as a great artist. But his craze for art killed him, and in a way…me too.

Edward just left home one day and…never returned. But years after he had left, a man showed up on my doorstep.

“Mrs. Carver? You’ve received a letter from Florida!” The mailman handed me a letter and walked away.

I ran my fingers over the name written on the envelope: “Edward.”

“My baby…” I whispered as I sank into my armchair and opened it.

Edward hadn’t written to me or visited me since the day he left home. It was the first time I received anything from him. So my heart was racing as I started reading his letter.

“Dear Ma,” it began. “How have you been?”

Oh, how long had it been since he called me Ma?

“I’m good, baby,” I replied as if he would hear me.

“I’m so sorry, Ma,” his letter continued, and I sat up in my chair.

“I couldn’t do it, Ma. I couldn’t. Some people are after me for money, and I couldn’t pay them. Choosing art was a mistake I made. You were right. But it’s too late to correct that. Please go to the address below, and you’ll find your granddaughter there. Sorry, Ma. Evelyn and I didn’t have a choice. I hope you forgive me someday.

With love,

I don’t have any recollection of what happened after that. I was too heartbroken because two days later, I was attending my son and daughter-in-law’s funeral.

My son, my talented boy, borrowed money from the wrong people. While trying to escape them, he and his wife lost their lives.

All because of those stupid paintings! My son couldn’t become the artist he wanted to, and he and Evelyn…DIED.

So when I held little Amy in my arms, the unsaid responsibility of protecting her from the bad naturally came to me. I relocated to a new city and started life from scratch.

And then, my worst fears came true: Amy started drawing and…loving it.

Instead of going out with children her age and playing with them, Amy would lock herself in her room and spend time with colors and paints. I was devastated when I found out she wanted to become a painter.

“You won’t draw, you hear me?” I scolded her. “No colors or paintings will ever make it to this house! Not while I am alive!”

I was crushed when I saw how hurt the little child was. But I didn’t want her to meet the same fate as her father. But that wasn’t the only reason why I didn’t want Amy to paint or draw.

I must admit, my son’s paintings were peaceful and serene; They gave you a sense of relief when you saw them. Amy’s paintings, on the other hand, terrified me.

So when the famous cartoonist Mr. Carlos showed up that day, I was shocked he appreciated Amy’s talent. And why was he offering her a $1 million deal?

Present-day…

“Come in,” Martha said and opened the door wider for Mr. Carlos. “And please don’t mind the mess.”

Martha sighed, looking around her own house as Mr. Carlos made himself comfortable on the living room couch. The sink was overflowing with dishes, the furniture was old and ragged, and a weird stink lingered.

The truth was that Martha and Amy were just getting by. Martha was too old and weak to work a more demanding job, so she worked part-time at a boutique downtown. She was thankful she didn’t have any snooty neighbors who would call the CPS on her.

“Would you like something? Tea? Coffee?” she asked, embarrassed, but Mr. Carlos refused politely.

“No, I’m good. Your granddaughter…is she home?” he asked.

“I told her. She must be—There she is…” Martha said as little Amy appeared from her room.

Mr. Carlos rose to his feet in shock. He was surprised Amy was a five-year-old girl.

“Are you Amy?” he asked, bewildered.

“I am, sir!” she said in a squeaky voice, staring at him with her big blue eyes. “Do you know me?”

“Well, well, many people know you, kid!” he laughed and crouched to face her. “Are you the one who submitted your drawings for Wizzie’s Art Competition?”

And then Mr. Carlos saw it. A strange fear flashed across Amy’s face, and she looked up at Martha.

“I won’t be mad, darling,” Martha assured her. “Please, go on and tell him what he’s asking.”

Amy nodded. “Yes, I turned them in…” she said quietly.

“How did you draw them, Amy?” he asked. “Have you been learning under someone?”

“No,” she said. “I…I—Mrs. McCarthy helped me. She would show me videos on the Internet and buy me colors…”

“Mrs. McCarthy?” Martha gasped. “So that’s why she was so eager to help whenever I asked her to watch you. Oh, that woman…I would’ve hated her if I found this out earlier, but right now, I don’t know what to say…” she paused. “She’s our neighbor,” Martha told Mr. Carlos. Then she sighed, confused.

“Sir, why do you like my granddaughter’s art? I mean, they terrify me,” Martha told Mr. Carlos blatantly, finally expressing her bewilderment behind his compliments for Amy. “Her drawings are strange in every sense of the word…twisted faces, strange dark colored shapes, and I just don’t know—I thought she was going through something, and—”

Before Martha could finish, Mr. Carlos started laughing, and she was even more confused now.

“Oh, I’m so sorry…Excuse me for that,” he said, getting serious. “Ma’am, most of the renowned artists drew things that were beyond human understanding,” Mr. Carlos explained. “Have you heard of the French artist Odilon Redon? His paintings are deep, and yes, they are definitely not pleasing to the eyes if we go by some people’s opinions.

“Amy certainly has a long way to go if she wants to make a name for herself in the field of art, but you have to admit your little granddaughter is extremely talented. As a cartoonist, I’m surprised how gracefully she’s done some of her art…”

Mr. Carlos went on to give a few more great examples, but Martha could barely understand any of them. She did realize that Amy was drawing something that was too advanced for kids her age, which was why Amy’s drawings seemed so odd to her.

“So…did Mrs. McCarthy help you submit the drawing in the art competition?” Martha asked Amy, who nodded.

“And you redrew them all?” Martha asked. “Because I threw away your old ones…”

When Amy nodded again, Martha felt like she had been the most awful grandmother. Her fears were justified, but she shouldn’t have stopped her granddaughter from pursuing what she loved.

“And because she won the competition,” Mr. Carlos added, “Amy would be appearing in interviews and everything soon, but the $1 million…it’s solely a result of Amy’s talent. After careful consideration, the committee chose Amy’s drawings as the winner this year.

“And thus, she gets to join us for the award show. But since we see here that Miss Amy is too young, we can convert the $1 million dollar deal we were offering her into a grant to fund her art education!”

When Mr. Carlos revealed Amy had won an award, Martha’s heart swelled with pride. While Amy didn’t understand everything Mr. Carlos was saying, she knew she had done something great and was excited.

“You are a brilliant girl, Amy,” Mr. Carlos finished, and Amy was grinning.

“Granny! I won a prize! I’ll be a painter just like dad!” she chirped, and this time, Martha didn’t scold her.

Instead, she hugged Amy and apologized. She knew she had been horrible to the sweet girl, but she decided to only support her granddaughter’s dreams from now on. Perhaps Edward’s dreams finally came true in this form.

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