Depraved because I was Deprived?

When Mom gathered our school supplies each August, indicating the cessation of fun, I’d wish my hardest for the round tub of Crayola crayons, but I always got the split-level, rectangular box.  I didn’t know whether it held more colors or less than the round, but I didn’t care.   The round box just seemed a more natural shape to me, at least for the contents.  No one ever showed me square crayons.

It scarred me for life.  If Mom ever gave an explanation it either was unsatisfactory or unbelievable to my young ears.  My parents didn’t allow tantrums; a smacked bottom now and then is NOT child abuse, so I didn’t argue when Mom said No.

Over time I assumed it was because my parent’s didn’t have as much money as other parents.  It didn’t matter that kids with single packs of Crayolas looked at my split-levels with envy; I’d have given anything for the elusive round.

For all I know Mom hated round containers.  While she was starting out as a career woman in the early '40s and struggling herself, she’d stop for a cup of tea at a local doughnut shop.  I don't believe she brought her own teabag, but while she sipped she stared at a sign which became her mantra:

As you travel through life, brother,

Whatever be your goal

Keep your eye upon the donut

And not upon the hole.

I outgrew crayons so my depravity remained, for the most part, buried; emerging only while walking the gauntlet in checkout lines.  Being short, you tend to notice items intended for children. That’s when Little Orphan Andie emerges, amazed to still feel deprived.

Until the other day, while reorganizing the contents of my baskets.  Suddenly, there it was, my very-own Crayola-round of…paint tubes.  Aaaahhh…relief at last.

I sure hope “all things comes to those who wait” continues to hold true, because I’d really like one of those tiny Etch-a-Sketches.