Mom's got the bucket

 

Dad never let us draw chalk on the driveway. But I miss the days when he'd yell at us to stop. Knock it off. Grow up a little bit faster.

So I did.
When all that stuff happened..  When life happened, too young and too quickly, I grew, shooting up on a thriller ride and my body collapsed under the pressure.
I think my head and my heart must have collided on the way up cuz I haven't been able to get them separated since.

I dropped my crayons on my way up, but I never really had them from the start.
It always for me better to use the stick of charcoal. So I could get my hands dirty.

As I left my childhood I became a stick of charcoal, trying to draw on the pavement. But mom wouldn't stop pouring the bucket of water over all my pictures.

Any kid would've stopped trying to create things after they watched that black wash off the driveway and drip into the grass.

I love her still.
Even if she never bought me a Crayola set.
Even after I began to wonder if she let me hold the charcoal just so she could wash it away again.

But I was only ever trying to draw her a picture and I think that's what hurt the most.