He has no embarrassment about it. He's known since he was 18 that this was inevitable. Here's his self-portrait:
It's drawn on the underside of Hannah's new bed. For some reason, it was decided while I was at work one day that the support slats and the subsequently-added sheet of plywood needed some sprucing up.
Every slat and every space, save one, are written on in black marker. I was not in agreement that the bare wood needed any augmentation. You may recall my 20 minute battle to get the warning label off this thing in the first place so it doesn't look like I picked it up at an eviction sale or a police auction. I just fear that, even at almost-seven it is a slippery slope from Hannah's writing on the (traditionally) unexposed surfaces of furniture to General Home Graffiti, and eventually scrawling obscenities on one's bedroom walls while having a teen-aged tantrum. Big leaps, I admit, but I'm a big-picture kind of gal.
Never mind that Hannah has never written on a wall in her life. The flyleaf of my Bible, yes. The video camera, sure. The caulk that holds in her bedroom window, for some reason, that, too. But never a wall. But that's just me: trying to anticipate all eventualities.