You were only 3.
You can be forgiven for not knowing the story.
For seeing the title "Songs About Yellow" and equating it with that favored Power Ranger from days gone by, and certainly we will get to that part of the story, but you painted my world yellow before that... quite literally.
Sometimes I wonder how the beginning goes in your book. I try to think back to when I was three, and none of my memories are concrete, but, I can often say that about yesterday, so perhaps I'm not the best example.
I guess I should start with what seems obvious...I think of you most often when I see yellow. Now, I realize there can be less than flattering connotations if a person is called 'yellow'... but I've seen your ninja skills-you're definitely not pansy yellow. That is not the kind we are talking about here.
The kind we are talking about is bright-sunshiny-happy-golden-yellow.
I was going to entitle this blog something like Hello, Yellow Fellow but... that's corny, right?
Besides, I like the Coldplay song... it would fill the airwaves only a few years after our story begins, it fits .
"Look at the stars...look how they shine for you.... and everything that you do... "
You were in K3 and I was the teacher across the hall (K4). For the record, I had very little idea... okay, no idea whatsoever...how to be a teacher. But- for lack of staff and because I was kin to those that did the hiring...and because I had often helped in church nursery and did a lot of babysitting- they were letting me give it a go.
Imagine that! My very first job out of high school was teaching K4 (truly, it was the equivalent of highly structured daycare and not 'formal education' - but it was an awfully big bite for someone as Kelly-green as myself. (Get it? Because I'm Kelly. And being green can mean inexperienced. Funny, no? No?! I'll keep trying. )
Your teacher was my friend and had counseled me friend-to-friend thru many a high school drama... just the year before. Yep, I was a whelp. Freshly eighteen and launched into the "real world" a mere 4 months before the school year started. That year, after the K4 class went home or to the nap room, I would cross over to the main school where I would 'teach' a group of 6th graders Art. I use the term with a self-degrading set of quotation marks because I didn't feel qualified but I tried to make up for it with enthusiasm. I was qualified in that. Art has always been and continues to be my favorite subject, so I like to hope that something good came from sheer enthusiasm for those students. I passed on to them my favorite lessons from Art classes over the years, especially the ones from... the year prior, when I was a student....in the very same building. :o)
See a theme developing?
Yeah, dog paddling in the deep end, that was me.
I add a lot of the qualifying because on the surface, saying I was 18 and "teaching" all these various subjects sounds like a tall-tale. But it wasn't. Tall order, perhaps, but totally true.
But wait! There's more. At the end of the day, I agreed to be a sponsor for the cheer team. Without an adult sponsor, they couldn't have a squad and so I agreed to chaperone the Varsity and Junior Varsity girls-- some of which had been my classmates....just a few months prior.
I didn't have an extensive background in cheer but I did enjoy being their host, finding new routines and buying them spirit gear...our colors were Green and Gold..
And THAT is why, when your dad came by after school to meet with your teacher - I was in her classroom, carrying bottles of green and yellow nail polish. She and I were friends--ARE friends, and back then we often chatted during breaks. I had just finished meeting with the cheer squad.
As she and your dad began to talk, I moved off to the side to do some teacher-ly things, casually placing my bag of spirit colors right within your reach as it would turn out. I can only guess at your thought processes but, there you were after a long day of schooling and absolutely NOT taking a nap (you were the kid always squirming on his mat) ready to go home but the grown-ups were talking... on and on like they're known to do...maybe if you had some music (you were known for singing
Men In Black in its entirety back then)...if only you had some drum sticks?
Wait, what's in this bag?
Bottles of nail polish?
Close enough!
And so, like Animal, you began to drum on the table using the bottles of polish as sticks. You had rhythm and you had music... just, not for very long.
CRASH! went the bottle and SPLASH! went the paint inside.
Yellow. It was all yellow... the table, I mean. And some of the chairs.
Drip, drip, drip went the liquid gold lacquer.
Grown-ups stopped what they were doing, a clean up effort ensued and you got to go home for the day. (Finally!)
And, (Finally!) you had given your dad a tool to CRASH! break the ice and (Finally!) speak to me directly. (Him, bashful? Hard to imagine, right? Still, totally true story.)
You see, he'd come up for a Parent/Teacher conference a week or so prior. Then he'd continued to show up, even when you'd already gone home with your mom for the day... only, he mostly talked to your teacher... not me.
Now he had an excuse to deal with me directly. A few days later, instead of stopping by Mrs. Stacey's class, he came to my door bearing multiple shades of yellow-gold nail polish to replace the broken one. His strong suit was not color coordinating nail polish and I suppose we can all be thankful for that. The rest as they say, is history (in the making).
Even now, if you rifle through our keepsake box, you'll find a bottle of yellow nail polish squirreled away.
So, I guess, in some ways, what I'm trying to say is... this is really all your fault, pal.
And, thank you.