The house I grew up in was a drab structure with boxy, uninteresting rooms. So much so that Mom would spend full days trying to redecorate the inside or change the layout in some unique way. It wasn’t until later that I realized her bug to redecorate was more than dissatisfaction with the house. She’d spend full days working like a mad woman to change her surroundings, sometimes letting the frenetic energy feed into the evenings and well into the night.
My junior high school was six massive blocks from our house, so I had to leave especially early to walk the distance and make it to my first class of the day on time. One morning, Mom stopped my carefully-timed process.
“I’m going to paint your room today. What color do you want?”
My heart rate quickened. I was having a hard time in school with a locker and changing classes. It wasn’t a big campus but I felt so out of place. I didn’t need to make another decision about room color. There was nothing wrong with the paint that was there. It was kind of a dirty white and had not been painted since my brother, Guy, had left to go live in Los Angeles six years ago. It wasn’t luxurious, but in my mind, as other more important matters swirled about, it would do. But Mom was determined to redo my room, and I needed to tell her the color I wanted. She was not going to leave me alone until I gave her an answer. As I gathered up my things for school and got my lunch off the counter in the kitchen, Mom followed me around suggesting colors that I was not thinking about, but wondering if I had done my history homework.
“Come on” she demanded. “Just tell me the first thing that pops in your head.” I grabbed my purse, slipped on my shoes and shook my head.
“Come on.” She didn’t seem to get it that I was not interested and this was not the time to be bugging me about the color of my room.
“I don’t know. I don’t care, just don’t destroy my Beatle’s posters.” That would be the ultimate sacrilege. “I don’t have time for this and I’ll be late. You know how long it takes to walk to school.”
“I’ll take you, just tell me the color.” She followed me to the front door.
“Okay already.” I barked at her and leaned over her now that I was at least six inches taller. “Pink with pink polkadots on the ceiling. Now can I go?”