It was a picture of a smiling little boy. He had lots of curly hair. The boy was running, arms pumping. His outstretched leg was drawn so you could see the front and back of his plaid pants.
It was the 70s -- of course his pants were plaid.
As I pondered which of my eight crayons to pick up, the whole world brightened. A dart hit a bullseye. A page in my imagination turned.
I know what I'm going to do! I have an idea no one else has ever, ever had! How very smart I am!
I was going to make the front and back of his pants different colors.
I had no choice. I grabbed a green crayon and carefully colored the front of his pants. I used purple for the back. I didn't go outside the lines at all. The little boy's pants were the best pants in the universe.
Until Mrs. Shawn came around. She made a funny face at my boy.
She leaned over, perfume too sweet. I don't remember what she said. She talked a long time. She pointed at her pants, at my pants, at my little boy's pants. She was wiggly through my tear-blurred eyes. She was loud. I said nothing.
I am wrong! Pants never, ever look like this! Why am I so stupid and dumb?
After a few minutes, I felt blurry. One part of me said Mrs. Shawn was sort of right (no one did wear pants like that), but also sort of wrong (people could wear pants like that). Was she more wrong or more right?
Was I more wrong or more right?
I was a good girl. I simply couldn't bear being in trouble. So I decided I was more wrong. And Mrs. Shawn, whom I loved so much, had to be more right.
But I knew people should wear pants that were different colors.
