Crayola was life 

This meme … I tell ya. I remember being in the art supply aisle drooling at this box of crayons. I’d probably have sold my little soul if someone offered them to me. Crayola was life.

I never did get this box. We were too poor.

Maybe a year or two ago, I purchased the Crayola Ultimate Crayon Collection for my niece. 152 crayons. Crayon sharpener. Multi-tiered, four-sided case. As she opened the box, I admired it with pride. I never would’ve dreamed of owning that set of crayons as a kid.

She does not get the significance. We’re on her third tablet and she’s guarding it with her life. It’s not that she doesn’t love the crayons, just that they pale in comparison to downloading free games from the Google Play and Amazon store. I guess I can dig it. I thought The Oregon Trail was epic.

But whenever one of my friends stop by and her crayons are out, I see it. They pause and stare. Sometimes they even say, “that’s a lot of crayons.” Maybe they touch the box. I feel them … and inevitably, I’m transported back to the times I stared at the 64 box of crayons like my life depended upon it. I remember the smell of a new coloring box, similar to that of an inkless newspaper. I recall the sharp snap of the new, crisp pages as you turned them, the firmness of the Crayon as you pressed it to the page for the first time. How beautiful the color was on the page when you had the “good crayons,” fresh strokes that blended together, vivid and dry, with no greasy residue. I remember how my breathing changed as I tightly gripped the crayon and concentrated on staying within the thin lines, staring at the page intently, maneuvering the very tip of the crayon on its side, shallow breathing as the slanted tip filled the narrowest of corners with color. And finally, the accomplished, satisfied feeling of pride that infused my body as I held up my perfectly colored creation.

I was a fucking artist!

No iPad can compare.

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