There I was in my doctor’s waiting room, passing the time watching two tiny girls who were coloring with great enthusiasm under the watchful eye of their grandma.
I mentioned to grandma that the girls – I’d estimate three and four years of age and obviously sisters – were much more entertaining than the television flickering from the wall. They were carrying on a dramatic conversation, describing the great art they were creating.
Grandma laughed and said the girls were really focused on their art – for 30-second bursts.
The younger girl turned to me at that point: “Hey mister, what is your favorite color/”
I replied that, quite honestly, my favorite color is purple.
“That’s a girly color,” she exclaimed.
Perhaps to some, I said. But I like it and I have some friends who are fans of the Minnesota Vikings (I’m partial to the Bears) who certainly don’t think purple is girly.
At that moment, the nurse beckoned me to the examining room so the doctor could determine why a grown man (officially a senior citizen) would have an ear ache more appropriate to a child. (Big blue pills fixed the problem.)
When I left the examining room, I was a bit worried. Doc discovered something about my heart that he believed needed further examination and I was going to the hospital for “further tests.” (Don’t worry, everything turned out OK and I’m healthy as can be – but I didn’t know that would be the case at the time.)
In the waiting room I found the two girls and grandma, packing up. The younger artist burst out: “There he is, the guy who likes purple. Hey, mister, I made a picture for you.”
She danced across the room and presented me with an spirited coloring of a cartoon character.
I thanked her, smiled and tucked the artwork under my arm with the insurance papers, test results, receipts and various medical instructions. It is a treasure – almost as much as the angelic joy in her face as she presented it. What happiness that gesture brought to a troubled soul.
