Caricature artists set up their easels in public places and draw pictures of people who are willing to pay a modest price for a humours image of themselves.

Their drawings amuse us because they exaggerate one or more of our physical features in a way that is recognizable but funny.


It’s easy to them to sketch a caricature art work for the park to get an honest living but what they don’t know is, YES I need the money and also secondly, all I want almost as badly as the money is to see them giggle happily, at least I was making thousands laugh when I couldn’t put up a smile for myself.


I grew up as a boy in my grandpa’s house, keeping the same friends he kept…  Uncle Jay, Grandpa Bright, old Gubly Lee they were the favourite amidst the wild bunch. I don’t know how my grandpa does it but there was this glow in him that attracted others and when we are with him, it’s all merry all day.


We didn’t need to have money but we had good ways of keeping people’s company and leaving them happy.


My grandpa for a while also made a living with it.


It was like going for a wedding, garden function or corporate meeting and then an old man was your host. He was so good at it that he got invited more often than the young ones for shows, and all I had to do for him was set up good props behind him. I was the physical he was the intellectual till one big break…  Starting from the time I got home and met him teary on the chair.


He couldn’t remember me and everything else. This had to be the beginning of my path, but it wasn’t much fun for a 16 year old guy like myself and I had grandpa and all the bills to weight on.


Our friends tried to help but it wasn’t enough, but if only I could get a miracle.


‘A summer miracle’  uncle Gratheold  the religious and always skeptical one said. He believed in all kinds of things and convincing you to believe was not hard, but that wasn’t going to pay my bill, so I took my canvass and made my way out that afternoon. Calculating how far apart I was going to get out of trouble with the local police because I was sure making a whole lot of money at my former station and now to a new area to keep away from arrest and trouble, I hoped for better sales.


“Hey dude, draw me? ” a thuged looked guy said hitting my hands so hard. I was going to resist thinking he could be one of the bullies they talked about on the street but not wanting to undermine my first work at the new location, I made a quick one.

Fanciful enough to reduce his worked out arms (muscle) and exaggerate his neck as long and a bulgy stomach. He slumped a bill in my pocket, it felt heavy and then a little paper showing a direction. It looked dirty and just like the way Uncle Sammy always said. Getting directions from people when you didn’t ask wasn’t much of a safe path. “Flee boy whenever it happens, Flee!!!” he always laughed, but then here I was, receiving note of direction but that was least on my mind. I had hours to go and no likelihood of sales was coming through.


I whistled and made music for a while with my mouth dancing. Thankful it brought in some extra cash, but that wasn’t enough.


Nothing was ever enough. A young Mexican like myself should think of owning a restaurant, get friends to aid and get up on the stage to merry (maybe it was a strategy to do) while I made up those plans within me, I was meant to know better that the hustle was worth more than that….


I think I’m a blizz..  Everything was worth more than just the directions I was taking things through in my own way… Do I follow the directions on the piece of paper? Do I stay longer here producing music and combine art or take chances at the restaurant?


Am I ever ready for a new path?


Better late than ever I thought to myself about parking up when three people rolled loud coins in my bowl competitively….


What was this?


Two others came, and then four, and…  I looked behind me as I watched their gaze… Lo and below




A performer had set his structure behind. Who could that be, because to me I was so sure it couldn’t be grandpa…

PS: Unreached rambling thoughts of the writer… I wonder if I could get a conclude of it.

Keep it simple

Mary’s Christmas

The Jacket Samaritan

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