It’s 1972. I’m five years old, sitting at the table of a brown-paneled kitchen.
In front of me, on page four of my coloring book, is my latest masterpiece: a horse standing in a field.
Inspiration fills my body as I make broad sweeping strokes with my Purple Pizazz crayon, my small hand furiously filling in color before dropping the crayon and searching the 64-pack.
“Sunglow for the hooves,” I whisper to myself, as the crayon streaks across the page.
Time stands still as I finish what I’m sure is destined to be a classic. Maybe it’ll even make it onto the refrigerator for the masses to enjoy…
Read More