Crayons and the First Day of School

I was standing in line at an office supply store and looked down into a display filled with that faultless symbol of childhood, crayons. There they were all lined up in their neat little rows like little solders just waiting for orders from commanding little fingers. Perfect points and neat wrappers. Bright happy colors just waiting to work outside the lines.

I just had to hold a box to experience that instant memory of school days. Just one sniff and you can remember how important this was to you at the beginning of school. You always wanted a new box and the teacher always sent a long list of supplies that you followed your mother around to collect. There would be Big Chief tablets with the Indian drawing on front, Number 2 pencils, a ruler and maybe some glue or scissors. In the lower grades there would be jars of paste that the teacher would have to stop all the boys from eating. As the years progressed, these would be replaced by glue sticks that would get too hot and melt in your desk. A packet of construction paper that would never have enough blue sheets but way too many orange sheets would go in the cart and notepads with wide lines to practice handwriting.

There were always items in the stores that were not on the list that you secretly wanted your mother to buy but you knew better than to ask since the list was long and the store was too crowded and you were getting a lot of new things anyway. But the best purchase of all was that box of crayons.

I always wanted the box of 64 with the built-in sharpener. I could not imagine any possession more decadent than this. Sixty-four colors!! And the points would always be sharp! I would try to convince my mother of the necessity of this purchase and she would always point to the list and we would buy the 8 or 16 count box that was required. Of course on the first day of school there would always be one kid who would have that box, and the rest of us would watch with envy as he used his impossibly grand selection of colors and covered his desk with crayon shavings. It was the definition of wealth when you were five years old.

In later years, the teachers would collect all our crayons on the first day of school and dump them into a box for all of us to share. I always disliked this because I tried very hard not to break my crayons and this method insured that someone would decide to “share” by breaking one in half. No more neat little rows of possibilities, now you had to hunt for that leaf green and the point would always be broken and the wrapper reduced to dingy grey.

But today I was looking an army of unspoiled soldiers and as I was inhaling their wonderful aroma I could not help but notice the older man behind me in line looking at me as if I had lost my mind.

I looked at him and smiled.

“Pick one up and try it; it is the very essence of your childhood”

And to my surprise he did.

He sighed and then smiled a smile that had just been waiting to be rediscovered.

And then he put the box in his cart next to his printer cartridges.

So once again crayons had help color my world outside the lines. And it was the perfect way to begin another semester.