On KJZZ's SOAPBOX, The Show turns over the the mic to listeners. In the latest series, listeners tell their own true stories on the theme of Misbehaving. Phoenix writer and lawyer Greg Esser is also a visual artist — a passion that started early. And under the bed. We’ll let him explain.
GREG ESSER: When I had a prolonged bout with Lyme disease in college, my mother gave me the Calvin and Hobbes book by Bill Watterson titled, “The Monster Under the Bed is Drooling.”
On the inside front cover of the book, mom wrote, “Laughter is always the best medicine.”
Mom knew medicine well.
As an 11-year-old child, she was diagnosed as having rheumatic fever, which was treated with prolonged bedrest — for months.
In fact, she had juvenile rheumatoid arthritis, which should have been treated with activity. The misdiagnosis allowed the disease to permanently damage Mom’s joints with a progressive deterioration that continued throughout her life.
From that point forward, Mom was on countless medications and steroids to manage her disease and pain. She had more than 40 surgeries to replace or fuse failing joints. She often joked she was more plastic and titanium than skin and bones. She never lost her sense of humor. It served her well, given the unruly behavior of her two children.
I was an artist from an early age.
I used my crayons on just about every surface imaginable — from furniture and walls to the kitchen counter. I also apparently enjoyed hiding and playing in small spaces like cabinets and the round plastic laundry basket. Mom took and framed photographs of me as a child in these random places.
My older sister had made similar mischief years before me when she was at a similar age, also documented in photographs taken by Mom. Our significant age difference as siblings is captured by the fact that the photographs of my sister and in black and white, and those of me are in color, with fading reds.
One night when I was about 5 years old, well after midnight, I crawled over the pink shag carpet in my sister’s bedroom with my brand-new box of 64 Crayola crayons. I slid stealthily under her bed while she was sleeping. Laying on my back, I began to make a colorful masterpiece on the clean white fabric stapled to the underside of the mattress box frame. The fabric was stretched tight like a canvas, although I was too young then to know what a canvas was.
As I colored my composition, I couldn’t help but notice the fabric had a little bit of give to it as I drew. Curious, I pushed the sharpened point of my crayon against the fabric a bit harder. It made a very satisfying little “pop” sound when it punctured the fabric, like popping bubble wrap.
Very pleased with my discovery, I began to rapidly poke more holes in the fabric.
My sister, who had — until that moment — been sleeping soundly, awoke with a start and screamed.
Terrified by that scream, I bolted up, completely forgetting about the bed.
I smashed my head into wood and cried out in pain.
The loud thump of my head hitting the underside of her bed scared my sister even more. She screeched even louder, and we now were both crying.
This all transpired over the span of several seconds.
The ruckus pulled our parents out of their own sound slumber across the hallway. They stumbled into the room to see what was happening.
My mother would retell this story about the “monster under the bed” for the rest of her life. Every time she would tell it, she would start laughing until tears started streaming down her face.
It was impossible not to laugh with her.
-
There’s something fishy about The Show's next Eating Christmas essay. Local writer Devin Kate Pope explains. -
A little white lie led to something much more — and more cherished — for Tuesday Mahrle. She tells more in her Eating Christmas essay. -
Growing up in rural Arizona, Phoenix storyteller Christopher Hooper spent a lot of time in one particular room of the house. Here's the latest essay in this year's Eating Christmas series. -
We continue our collection of conversations about food and the holidays with a story from The Show producer Ayana Hamilton. She’s got a complicated relationship with Santa. -
Over the next few days we’ll be sharing some of this year’s true stories about food and the holidays, starting with the holiday season Kathy Cano-Murillo tried to help her father make tamales.
