Sometimes, I feel I don't understand sculpture. Mr. Beckwith at Lincoln Junior High School tried to teach me a thing or two in seventh grade about it. I remember we had a sculpture assignment. The assignment was to create a person's head, not necessarily a self-portrait. I was happy with that information. I had enough teenage angst without adding to my misery. I accomplished the mission and got it fired without destruction. For me that deserved an A+. I think I recall Mr. B- going with a B, and I was happy. Mom was happy too. It made it to a bookcase in a place of honor in the den. I lost track of it when I travel off to college. I'm sure it was picked up, along with thousands of classic baseball cards, in one of many of Mom's yard sales. My name was cut into the bottom. If you find it in a garage sale or a museum someday, tell them you know the sculptor. It'll be a steal for $5!