We all start out in this life perfect. When we’re first brought home and set on the kitchen table, it’s like magic. Everything about us is new, fresh and full of endless possibilities. We are all the same, but we are also all different. We come in different shapes, different sizes, and, yes — different shades.
Such was the colorful scene as new parents brought me and my brothers and sisters home, setting us on the table.
We were all perfect except one. He was broken from the very start. Through no fault of his own, he was immediately at a disadvantage to the rest of us. Most averted their eyes because of his imperfection. He was treated differently than those who were perceived to be whole — those who looked or seemed normal. But he still was happy and wanted to play with anyone wanting to play with him.
He heard all the unkind comments whispered by others, “Don’t play with him, he’s broken,” “He’s different,” and “Just throw him away.” It wasn’t his fault.
Most grownups naturally gravitated to those who are similar, to what they are used to. They had a tendency to disregard those who are broken, not pay attention to them because they were of no use. After all, aren’t the whole ones the normal ones?
Children? Well, children were different. The children in the house had the unique insight to see past his brokenness and the perception he was somehow lesser than his brothers and sisters. Wasn’t he just as colorful as if he were whole?
There were times when Orange was the most popular. Especially during the fall where it would be impossible to color leaves, pumpkins, Thanksgiving or Christmas without him.
After so much use, his two pieces became too small for even littlest of hands. Again, the adults wanted to discard him. After all, he was now broken more than ever. They still didn’t see his usefulness. But the children did.
For months, I watched the children placing all who were too short to color with into a clear jar. The adults only saw a jar of broken crayons, but the children saw much more.
After filling the jar, the children placed a small light inside, took it into their bedroom, and placed it on a shelf. Creating the perfect nightlight, both the children and the crayons could see the usefulness of being broken. Even if some adults could not.
We are all broken, imperfect creatures. Think how much better our world would be if we all could look past each other’s brokenness. If we have reached adulthood, it is likely we’re all are broken in some way — outwardly or inwardly.
Should we be discarded by society simply because we are imperfect or different? Perceived as no longer useful? And those who think they aren’t broken and are somehow better than those of us who are? Well, aren’t they the most broken of us all?
But what do I know? I’m only one of 64. I’m Magenta, and I’m a crayon.
[Rick Ryckeley has been writing stories since 2001. To read more of Rick’s stories, visit his blog: storiesbyrick.wordpress.com.]
