THE ORIGIN OF THE WISHBONE
	When I was a senior at Hillsborough High School, my art teacher decided to start a student art gallery. Every year a top art student or two were to do paintings that would hang in the main hallway of the school for posterity. I was chosen that first year. I had never painted an actual painting before so this was all new to me. Hillsborough High School with its Ivy League University architecture and tall clock tower can easily put you in mind of a majestic castle. It is the oldest high school in Tampa. I decided to paint a Queen Victorian-type painting with the subject wearing a jeweled robe and high lace collar. It matched the architecture of the school, the ten to twelve-foot- high Greek statues in the hallways and all its traditions. For my first effort the painting really came out well. I did it on the dining room table at our house on Ellicott Street. My best friends, Clifford and Gracie, lived directly across the street from us. I bet I spent half my time over at their house. I used Grace as a model for the face in the painting. Her last name was Di Bella which in Italian means "Of the beautiful," and that's what I named the painting, Di Bella. Meanwhile, Clifford and Grace and I had started a wishbone collection. We were going to make a gigantic wish all at one time and see what happened. I bet we had thirty wishbones saved. It started as a joke and the collection kind of got out of hand. Back to the painting: When I did the high collar and long cuffs in the painting the lacework was very intricate and detailed. In keeping with the secret joke amongst the three of us, I painted a tiny wishbone in white hidden within the lace of one of the cuffs, totally undetectable if you didn’t know it was there. That same year at school my favorite teacher, my Biology teacher, was Mr. Matthews. Everyone loved Mr. Matthews. He had a pet prairie dog that he kept in class. (There is a connection here to the story.) Oh, how he loved that prairie dog. He and his wife had had Squeaky for probably twenty years. One of my older brothers had Mr. Matthews for his teacher, also his favorite teacher, ten years before I did and Squeaky was part of the class then. Mr. Matthews was a stitch. He made learning not only interesting but funny. I really looked forward to his classes. I had a pet bobcat at home. She was my heart. I've had a number of bobcats throughout my life and later as an adult, two Florida Panthers. At my job at Busch Gardens I worked with twelve Bengal tigers while in charge of almost as many cheetahs. Mr. Matthews was telling the class about Tabby, my bobcat. He said, "She's really something. She'll eat right out of your hand. And right out of your elbow. And right out of your shoulder." The class loved his entertaining way of teaching and his hilarious sense of humor. Sadly, the year I graduated high school, Squeaky passed away from old age. And eventually, as will happen with pets, Tabby did too. After graduation I attended The Tampa Academy of Fine Arts for the next three years. The first painting I did at the academy (my second painting) was a portrait of Squeaky, a gift for Mr. Matthews. My instructor and mentor, Mr. Porth, said, "Where are you going to put the wishbone?" I explained that I had meant for that to only be in that original painting, Di Bella. He said, "People love looking for hidden things in paintings. It makes them feel part of the work." So I painted a small dark wishbone deep in the ear of Squeaky's portrait. Again, undetectable. And that's how it started. It's been in every single painting I've done since, over a thousand. I can't remember where I put them and I have to look for them the same as everyone else. At my exhibits, guests, many of whom I do not know, will often accompany their signatures in the register adding, I found the wishbone in (whatever the painting was.) It was in the (and wherever it was hidden.) The painting, Di Bella, one day after several years disappeared off the wall at Hillsborough High School. Nobody has a clue as to what happened to it. I wonder if it will ever surface again like a number of my paintings have after being missing for four, five, even six decades. Lash Out Loud