Yesterday I saw the chalk drawings in our neighbor’s driveway and was delighted by the hearts and peace signs and messy, spectacular, brilliant art her daughter left for all of us to enjoy. This morning I realized that was one piece I miss about having kids, who live at the end of the cul de sac, with a bucket full of chalk, and believe they own the street.
I remembered when we first moved to Davis and Kate had a new friend, Cait, over. In 1988 we all named our daughters Katelyn, but we each had our own spelling. You know, to be unique.
Kate and Cait sprawled out on the sidewalk, colored dust covering their hands and knees. My Kate began to draw a butterfly, filling the entire square with polka dot wings. New friend Cate exclaimed, “That’s a perfect example of bilateral symmetry.”
They were five.
I’ll bet they don’t remember it (or probably even each other), but I don’t think I will ever forget.
Girls who could already connect art, play, math and science into a beautiful square on the street. Pretty clear they were going to outsmart me.
That was 21 years ago. My Kate just started grad school at one of the best art schools in the country. She’s going to be an architect.
And, I might just buy myself a box of sidewalk chalk this summer. Because I don’t think it’s too late to start drawing butterflies.