My dad was an artist, too, and I have been around art supplies and color all of my life. I am often asked what is my favorite color. That is like asking a young mother who is her favorite child. I love every single color–each in its own way.
Rootin Tootin Red – Red is a loud, bold, get-out-of-bed, wake-up-and-smell-the-coffee color for me. To me, it screams, “Twist and Shout!”
When some people see red, they think, “Stop Signs, Whoa! Beware! Red, you’re too hot for me.”
But when I see red, I think, “Fiesta! Red, you’re the flush of life.”
Sunny Summer Yellow – When it moves toward the orange side of the color wheel, yellow is a warm, sunflower color. When I think about golden yellow, I think about beach parties in August and dancing on the hot, summer sands. It’s odd that on the stoplight, yellow is the signal for caution and slowing down. For me, yellow is, “Get ready, get set, Go.”
When yellow moves toward green, I see an earth that whispers, “Spring.”
I see the buds that form on limbs and shoots of grass and flower stems. The orangey yellow warms the ground, and the greenish-yellow grows.
Now, green itself is a woodland deep and luscious leaves where fairies sleep. Green is where the rabbits run and where the forest blocks the sun. Green is the cool on a hot, summer day–the place where the angels play.
And blue is how they pray.
I could move through every color, saying what I specifically like about each one. Suffice it to say, however, that each color sings to me in its own special way, and when I see all of the colors working together, I hear a symphony. That’s the way that I feel about the ethnicities of people, too.
As I mentioned yesterday, I work part-time as my library’s children’s librarian. Last week, our library had a Cinco de Mayo party for the children in our area. The community where I live now is very diverse. Young professionals from all over the world live here and work. When I looked around at our Cinco de Mayo party, I did not see any Mexican children, but there was a child whose family moved here this year from China. He is about 3-years-old and speaks no English at all. There was another child whose family recently moved here from Greece. He speaks broken English. There were sisters who moved here from Korea. They speak no English, and I have children whose parents moved here from Ireland. My friend is a retired Spanish teacher, but she is Jewish and her niece and nephew live in Israel. She led the program. I may as well be from a different county, I moved to the Jersey Shore from the South.
I also always have children at my library programs whose grandparents still live in India. They can speak both English and their native languages, and I even babysit for an Indian family. I eat with this Indian family and have tea with them quite often. From my Indian family, I have learned to see arranged marriage in a different light, and I have learned how to cook a few Indian dishes. Tonight, I babysat the house while the cleaners were there and the family had to be gone to a game. Before the family went out the door, they started a movie for me to watch. The children thought that it was a scary movie and before they left, the little 5-year-old boy got a warm, fuzzy blanket and tucked me in. He didn’t want me to be frightened and alone. Americans don’t have a patent on love and nurturing and caring.
Yesterday, I went to get gas in my car and after the tank was filled, the service attendant asked me if $25.95 was okay with me. [New Jersey still has service station attendants who pump our gas]. I chuckled and said, “No, but I don’t know which gallon of gas that I want you to suck back out of the tank.”
Of course, I was kidding, but as I began writing my post today, I thought about the place where I live now. I thought about all of the different types of people that I have gotten to know. If someone asked which child that is part of my work now that I’d be willing to do without, I would not be able to make that choice.
Like the colors of the rainbow, the children that I work with now are all special to me. Each child sings his own song and all together, they make a special kind of place that I have learned to know as home.
©Jacki Kellum May 10, 2016