Wondering about Crayons

My whole life I have wondered deeply and well about things that most people don’t even think about. A driving force within me needs to feel that I belong on the planet. I sensed this difference at an early age and kept most of my wondering to myself. But the silence didn’t stop my wondering. I wondered why people looked at me and what they saw. I wondered why they didn’t notice that I didn’t want them looking, and why they called me “Bashful” when I hid.

Then the Crayola™ Company introduced the box of 64 crayons. Other kids went crazy coloring. I took each crayon out of the box as if it were a jewel for a princess crown. I read its name and laid it delicately on the living room floor in front of me. No paper required for this work. I was wondering.

I wondered why red violet wasn’t called violet red, and why blue green wasn’t green blue. I wondered who decided and when it was decided, whether people had to talk about it for a long, long time. I worried at this question like a puppy pulling at a rope loose at one end, staying with it until I knew how those color names worked exactly—the strongest color comes at the end—but everyone knows that by now. I didn’t know that then. Then I had to wonder until I found out about it.

I studied laid-out crayons with intensity, moving them around one at a time, checking how many were yellow, green, or blue. I liked the purple ones. I had no time for browns. I considered how to relate the colors to each other. Did the violet blue go with the violets or with the blues? How did that impact the rest? I wondered.

I needed at least two boxes of crayons to sort them properly and I needed even more to explore the 656 other wonderings I had about the attributes of crayons. It could be months before I would be set to use them for their intended purpose—if ever. The truth be known, I’m still wondering how they make that perfect edge around the crayon's neck. Every time I hold a crayon in my hand I find myself wondering about them. I probably always will be.

I came to identify with those crayons. A box of crayons didn’t seem so different from a classroom full of first-grade kids. Each could only be defined by the few physical traits they had in common. No simple rule could place them in a line and get them to behave. The day I got that box of 64, I became the 65th crayon, born outside the box, meant to wander life wondering, hopefully meeting other 65th crayons. Maybe that’s how I got to be a first-grade teacher.

Now I explore with confidence every piece, part, and parcel of the world. Every detail of life is the stuff of color and of wonder. Each little answer makes the ground more solid as I wander around wondering about things that other people don’t even see.

I even wonder . . . what other people wonder about.

Sometimes I do color.

—me strauss Letting me be