This story has been told so many times it hardly seems necessary to include it, yet it was a life altering event and made an impact on me.
I was probably in about the third grade at Roosevelt Grammar School in San Gabriel, Calif. when this obsession occurred. I say “obsession” because I have always loved color and have been intrigued by the many different hues in a crayon box. Coloring was my creative outlet. There was only one problem. My box of crayons only had the basic 8 colors and Carl’s box had at least 24 beautiful crayons.
Carl sat in the next row, a couple of seats behind me. I can remember walking down the aisle on my way out to recess and seeing all of his crayons carelessly strewn across his desk. I thought if I had all those colors, I would certainly keep them neatly inside the box. Day after day, I looked at the crayons and wished they were mine.
And then it happened. One day I noticed the most beautiful shade of pink I had ever seen in a crayon. It was right on the edge of his desk. Suddenly a plan quickly developed in my mind. Carl had already left the room to go to recess, as well as the other children and the teacher. Oh how I wanted that crayon. It was so easy, I just let my fingers graze his desk and suddenly the pink crayon was inside the palm of my hand. I walked quickly out the door checking again to see if anyone had seen me. The crayon went safely into my pocket.
I knew I couldn’t use it at school, but I fantasized about all the beautiful drawings I could make at home using the pink crayon. I rationalized that Carl would never miss it. Boys don’t use pink anyway.
All the way home on the bus I kept fingering the crayon in my pocket. But the guilt started to creep into my heart. My mother trusted me and I knew how wrong it was to take something that belonged to someone else. I began to feel very dirty and the pink crayon wasn’t as important as it once was. At home when I was alone, I took out the crayon and wanted to try it out, but I felt so ashamed, I couldn’t even make a mark with it. I carefully wrapped the pink crayon in my hankie and took it back the next day.
Carl had never missed it. I could hardly wait until recess so I could undo my terrible deed. I never got caught but I learned without a doubt, that thievery would never be a part of my life. I knew it was more important to be able to live with yourself and hold your head up high.
