Monday, July 29, 2019

Pink Bead

I have about three distinct memories from kindergarten. And this one is the most powerful. There was a big plastic bin of large wooden beads. They were meant, I would presume, to be strung on those shoelace-like strings, but I don't actually remember ever doing that. What I do remember was that the bucket was available during free-choice time and that I would sit on the rug with it. The beads were those dull shades of red, blue, orange, yellow that most children's wooden toys were in the seventies and eighties -- as if they'd just been barely painted with some sort of not entirely opaque stain, and the hue of the wood was showing through. All but one. One bead, though it was the same shape as all the rest, was bright solid opaque neon pink. Florescent at a time before florescent became common. So bright it seemed to almost mesmerize me. I was obsessed with this one unique and singular bead. I liked it so much I could barely stand to look at it. I would actually bury it deep under all the other beads because gazing upon it filled me with such a strong feeling I didn't know how to handle it. At the time it felt almost as if I was afraid of the pink bead and how much I liked it. But now looking back, I wonder if the overpowering feeling wasn't actually joy? More joy than my little person could hold? Anyhow, I drew it.

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