Finger Paint

Mr. and Mrs Olivare had learned long ago that their son’s creativity could not be stopped- he had what those with odd humor would sarcastically call “natural talent.”

When he was born it was obvious right away there was something wrong- the ailment was clear to everyone that day.

If this had been 1930 he would have been called a demon and killed

If this had even been 1940 he would have been pickled in a jar

But no, this was 56’ and by god this kid was born an American. He deserved a quiet life, researchers affirmed to themselves.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he had anything wrong, or dangerous, or profitable with his curious defect.

So they turned the mewling toddler back to parental possession with the gentle warning that others would not see his gift with such warmth, and that he should be careful about who he chose to reveal himself to.

Mrs. Olivare only had one question during the meeting.

“So when is the ink going to stop running from under his fingernails?”

No one really had an answer for that.

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