The box of 64

            It's back-to-school shopping time, and I'm stocking up as the sales prices are kind. While making my way down a crowded aisle, I spotted the Cadillac of Crayons, the box of 64.

            I dreamed about that yellow and green box as a kid; but with seven children in our family, none of us wanted to stretch the budget too far.

            We all got the box of eight crayons and, when we were older, the box of 16. I remember wanting that box of 64 more than any other school supply item, but I knew it was too expensive.

            When I was in the second grade, my classmate, Lisa, was the only one with the box of 64. At coloring time, Lisa would pull out that big box and flip open the top to reveal a rainbow of colors.

            The most incredible aspect of the box of 64 was the built-in sharpener. Crayons could look perfect all the time because of that nifty tool. Lisa, though, refused to share her sharpener.

            Her family had more money than the rest of us at St. Joe's. No hand-me-down school uniforms for her.

            No saddle oxford's that looked good until the brush-on shoe polish wore off.

            No box of eight crayons. She had the most coveted item in the room – the box of 64.

            I didn't consider that Lisa's parents wanted to encourage her creativity. All my second-grade brain knew was if you had the box of 64, you were the luckiest kid around.

            During the year, I came to realize that Lisa was a selfish creep, and there was no way I'd ever ask to borrow her sharpener, not even when the tips of my crayons were as flat as a board. Still, whenever she'd open that box and I'd see all those sharp crayons, I'd feel a twinge of jealousy.

 

That Box of 64

            When my eldest son started school, I remember our first school supply shopping trip. I was so excited, but he was only interested in going to the playground when we were finished shopping.

            Stacked next to the pencils were the crayons and, as impressive as I remembered it, the box of 64. I started to put the box in my basket and then I stopped, realizing who really wanted all those colors.  

            The person who wanted the box of 64 was that 8-year-old girl with the scuffed shoes who remembered shyly asking the snottiest girl in class if she could borrow her crayon sharpener. It was the girl who felt second-class when that stingy girl turned up her nose and pretended not to hear.

            So I picked up the box of 64 and a box of 16 and showed them both to my son.  

            "Which one do you want?" I asked, fully prepared to give him philosophical reasons on why more is not better and that life is more than the number of crayons in a box. It's about sharing what we have and caring about other people's feelings

            He looked at the two boxes and pointed at the smaller box.

            "Less to carrry," he said.

            In more ways than he knew, my little boy was right.

            Many of the burdens and broken wishes we carry are the ones we choose to put on our backs. That day, I walked away from the box of 64 with no regrets, knowing my son would be happy with the box of 16.

            And so, finally, would I.

      This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.