64 Crayons with a Built-In Sharpener

When I was little and anticipating that first day back to school, I so wanted that big box of crayons with the built-in sharpener in the back.

Coming from a big family of tiny means, we would instead receive a box of 16 or 24 at the beginning of the school year – never the coveted 64. My parents couldn’t have ever known how much I wanted the built-in sharpener feature, as I didn't feel comfortable telling them that I had less than what I wanted.

I know now, looking back with the eyes and heart of an adult, that my parents were swamped by life's demands and obligations and bills and were doing the absolute best that they could. They were performing some pretty amazing magic tricks when it came to keeping everything at home afloat.

I do recall the school year when my dad bought me a box of 48 crayons . . . the Crayola box that was square and fat and just so jammed with color goodness. I felt like a princess receiving those crayons. I dearly hope that I thanked him in a manner that reflected my appreciation.

It's weird how the memory works. I want to believe that I repeatedly thanked my parents throughout my childhood for these childhood essentials . . . but I'm not sure that I did. I feel a modicum of shame and regret and humility all rolled into one knot of emotion, now knowing what it means to make financial sacrifices for my own family.

Now that I can no longer tell my parents directly, I want to tell them now. I want to thank them for what they did for all of us, how they demanded that we take advantage of the opportunity to learn and get a good education. Another expectation was that we all learn to play a musical instrument. Me? My father was a big fan of Benny Goodman and chose the clarinet as my instrument-of-his-choice.

There were other gifts that came in the form of life lessons: My father used to tell us that if we are ever mean to someone, we will have to reckon with that same person again at some point in the future so we might as well try to be a decent human being. Thank you, Dad, for insisting that we look at the big picture when poverty had diminished my horizons.

My mother used to laugh at the oddest things . . . things that didn't seem funny to me as a child . . . but now? I can see how she tried to find humor in the oddest, and sometimes bleakest, of circumstances. She chose to laugh when I now realize that she probably wanted to cry. I didn't understand that her greatest strength was to flip fear on its ear and laugh out loud instead. It takes a great deal of courage to laugh sometimes. Thank you, Mom. You still are my hero.

I now reflect on all of these life gifts from my parents that surpass and outshine a box of 64 crayons. I now fast-forward and my art supply cupboard is full of paints and brushes, gesso and gel, colored pencils and crayons, colored chalks and pastels, markers and Sharpies.

Truth, I have all the art supplies I could have ever dream of having. My life is brimming with abundance, but now it is the sort that is earmarked by appreciation and not the kind that is tallied or scored or counted.

And as for crayons, I keep a jar of 8 crayons in the kitchen to have at the ready for doodling away those waiting-for-the-water-to-boil minutes. I know why I keep these 8 crayons at the ready, as they bring me back to those brand-new-school-year memories of wanting and wishing.

I now have an understanding of how my parents had so few resources to prepare us for the school year ahead. Still, they gave to us gifts greater than what could ever fit inside a cardboard box with a built-in sharpener. They gave us an appreciation for what it is that inhabits our lives . . . that essence that cannot be determined by income level or material things or the number of crayons that went into our book bags on the first day of school.

I know now that they were preparing me for this thing called Life when I didn't even realize that that is exactly what they were doing at the time. My childhood felt so fraught with uncertainty growing up, but maybe there was more of a plan in place that I just couldn't see. Maybe my parents didn't know it either.

Call it parenting, call it family, call it surviving, call it thriving. I don't know. I do know that my parents prepared me to appreciate my priorities in life – things like receiving a box of 8 crayons on Mother's Day and feeling like I am loved, heard, and enormously blessed.

Thank you to my parents who did all they could with what they had. I understand now. And I am grateful.