I am grateful for Crayola crayons.
Crayola crayons are one of the few things in life that have not changed in one hundred and ten years. The eight-pack that I packed in my bag on the first day of school in Grade One, fifty-two years ago, is the same eight-pack that I can buy today, save perhaps a tiny shift in packaging. The 64-pack that came out in 1958 with the built-in sharpener, the box I coveted when I was eight and dreamed about owning, now sits on my shelf for me to admire and I paid a very reasonable price when you consider how many years of inflation has gone on between.
For someone who clings to the past with a death grip, Crayola crayons are like a life preserver in this fast-paced, technologically-driven, mad-for-change society. An new and improved smart phone or computer or tablet seems to be released hourly, making everything we own obsolete, all the way down to our running shoes. A person feels compelled to change her hair style, his car, his menu plan, her partner, just to keep up.
But I can hold on to the Crayola crayon where only thirteen colours have been retired over the hundred and ten years, where “Flesh” was changed to “Peach” in an act of recognition of the valuable differences between the colour of our skin, where “Prussian Blue” was changed to “Midnight Blue” to acknowledge history. And though there are one hundred, thirty-three colours, that simple eight-pack of green, orange, yellow, red, black, brown, blue and violet are still available.
So go and buy a new pack and get a colouring book while you’re at it. I promise, all the troubles you may have will quiet down while you colour a green cat or a blue sun.
I am oh so very grateful for Crayola crayons.