Harold and the Purple Crayon. After a couple of weeks of doctor visits (yuck), writing my book, urges to go “whack a mole” on the genie who could grant me prescriptions for MS symptoms or won’t even come out of the insurance bottle to discuss it, and other distractions…Here’s Harold. In my brain. That bald little big-eyed 4 yr. old in Crockett Johnson’s book is on my mind. Why? Because I have felt like Harold lately. I don’t think I’m going bald, but have sure felt like pulling my hair out. Anyway….
Remember that little dude? All Harold wanted one night was to walk in the moon’s light. Sounds harmless to a little kid. But, remember, that book was written a long time ago. Back when most of us probably COULD walk by ourselves at night without fear of being hurt or taken. (That’s an age defining statement for me, by the way.) Truth be known, and it usually always is with me, when I was four, I dreamed of raising one of my bedroom windows (the other was annoyingly painted shut) and explore just how the grass might feel to my bare feet at night and if the animals living in the trees around my house were tucked in properly. I could relate to Harold. I still can.
But, without a moon for Harold to see by and nowhere to walk, he snags a purple crayon and draws a path on which to walk outside. Determined little booger, huh? And, smart, too. Harold slips out without his parents’ knowing he had a crayon hidden, much less knowing he could get his window open. He draws landmarks so he wouldn’t get lost. He scribbles a purple pie and ate it when he got hungry. I’m not into sweets, so I would probably draw a platter of bacon. He draws a forest with one tree with apples so he doesn’t get lost finding his way back. However, Harold’s frontal brain lobe is not formed completely so he has some brain farts in judgement along the way. He draws a dragon to guard the apples on that tree, but the dragon scares the poo out of him and he probably needed to change his Pullups. He draws an ocean to get away from the dragon, but then finds he is in deep water. (no tinkle pun intended) Quickly, he draws a boat to rescue him from drowning. Guess he forgets he hasn’t had swimming lessons yet. Harold has drawn himself into quite a mess by this point.
As a good children’s book should be, it happily ties all of the “what ifs” together. Harold thinks and draws ways in and out of his problems in a crazy, yet reassuring manner. I think he sorta surprises himself with what he is able to figure out for his age and within the confines of a preschool brain. Not to mention, the confining and stupid looking pjs he was wearing. I think a distant relative gave those to him because…hello..they are so not cool, even for a 4 yr. old.
In the end, he gets tired. I would be tired, too. I have been lately. He draws his own house and own bed, happily falls asleep and tucks his adventures yet to come and crayon safely away. Wow. wouldn’t it be nice if we could have all of our adventures in life predictably and easily “drawn” to a happy ending? After the last few weeks for me, I’d even “amen” myself here. I didn’t draw nor want some of these doctor appointments, much less the procedures I had. I surely would have drawn some nice medications, once I found myself in an ocean of discomfort. I would have encircled myself ahead of time in my happy place once poking and prodding, needles and the yuck factor was made known. I would have drawn a circle with a slash through it over any insurance genie denying me prescribed medicine. I would have drawn a heart around the pharmacist who went out of her way to make calls and try to help me. (Pharmacists don’t have to do that, ya know.) I’d even color over MS and draw my life free of it.
But, I couldn’t and I can’t. I could go into how we all can draw ourselves into junk, but, I think life does a pretty good job doing that and we just add to it. Fortunately and gratefully, if we don’t know how to draw, God does. He made the moon, the ocean and us, so I think, and this is me here, ya know, God knows when to draw us into great things, can draw us out of stuff and He also knows when to draw us THROUGH stuff.
I probably should have saved this essay for my book. Harold was simply too fun to wait for. Maybe, I’ll put it in the book with a bit more depth. Who knows. I’m too pooped to care. I’m gonna go draw myself making dinner, watching season one of Switched at Birth on Netflix (for the 2nd time) then putting on my really “AUsome”Auburn (AL) sleep pants, t-shirt, snuggling with my dog Tru and later, falling asleep in my bed.
In whatever you wish to explore…wherever your life draws you…whenever you feel small, bald, tired and like a kid needing rest, always be kind. P.S. I’m not at all a purple fan, so my crayon would more than likely be pink.