This is a piece I repost every year around Christmas time. The holiday season is full of memories of gifts, gatherings, and glee. To that list of happy triggers I add one thing for me: 1. magic marker.
“No, no, no!”
Her reprimanding tone rang a bell. Behind me in the check-out line a young mother wrestled something from her toddler’s tight grip.
“No, no, no!” she repeated. The little boy grabbed a ball point pen from a display rack near the cash register. Swiftly removing the cap, he was about to demonstrate his unique brand of artwork across a stack of Washington Posts. He clenched his little fist when his mother tried to take the pen. I felt for him.
What child doesn’t like to draw?
I drew constantly as a child. Pens and pencils were my implements of choice but when I could sneak it away I’d use my sister’s fountain pen until it emptied. She always wondered why her ink ran out so quickly – and unless she reads this it will remain a decades-old secret. Of course I also had a box of Crayola crayons, 64 count with a built-in sharpener. I lived large. One thing I had never used, but craved greatly, was a magic marker. I didn’t have one, but Mama did.
I’d seen her use it once then toss it into something in the back of the high cabinet above the stove. I was too little then to know the secrets of that cabinet, but one day as Mama backed out of the driveway to go to the grocery store I seized the opportunity to learn. Home alone, I slid a kitchen chair to the stove, climbed up, and eased open the cabinet door. I saw spices, aspirin, glue, rubber bands, and a deck of playing cards. That was it. Disappointed, I started to close the cabinet and that’s when I saw it. There, from inside an old coffee mug, wedged between broken pencils and a pair of scissors it called to me. The magic marker!
My heart beat faster as I plucked the marker from the mug. I removed the cap, catching a whiff of that distinct (and what I considered beautiful) aroma. In slow motion I turned to hop from the chair, determined to be stealthy as I secretly drew with that marvelous thing. I’d return it to the mug when done. No one would know.
Except for Mama.
“No, no, no!” Mama said, coming in the back door with an armload of groceries. “You can’t use that. It’ll get everywhere and it will never wash off.”
Even when I drew with generic pens, pencils, and crayons Mama made it clear I was to sit at the kitchen table, draw only on the paper, and never get near the walls. No surprise that the notion of me with a magic marker made her nervous. I surrendered the marker to Mama, she returned it to the coffee mug, and I headed to my sister’s room to find solace in a fountain pen.
With Christmas right around the corner, my sisters and I started making lists for Santa Claus. I noticed their extensive lists included things like dolls, dresses, games, and make up. I wrote down one thing only.
- magic marker
Oh, everyone laughed, but to me it was serious. I had to know what it was like to draw with a magic marker. Pens and pencils were great, crayons were fun, and fountain pens were nice while the ink lasted, but I had to have a magic marker! Christmas seemed like it would never come.
But it did, and when that morning came, in my spot near the tree was the mountain of gifts Santa Claus generously left every year. As my sisters hugged new dolls and compared games and make up, I marveled at my remote control helicopter and a book about dinosaurs. To the left of a new pair of slippers was a small, plain box. There were no words or pictures to provide a clue, but as I lifted the lid that distinct and beautiful aroma gave away the contents. A brand new magic marker.
Merry Christmas to me!
I held the precious thing high in the air. I had to draw immediately! I ran to the kitchen table where I knew it was safe, grabbed my drawing pad and sat down. Mama, hot on my heels, pulled me and the entire kitchen table three feet from the wall. She instantly spread a layer of newspaper beneath my drawing pad, provided several wet paper towels, and reminded me that magic marker ink would never wash off. Daddy stood there grinning, amused by Mama’s panic. I think I know which half of Santa Claus was behind that particular gift. I happily drew as the distinct and beautiful aroma filled the kitchen.
For a kid who finally got his magic marker, it really was the most wonderful time of the year.
And Mama was incorrect. Magic marker ink will come off, it just takes rubbing alcohol and three good days of scrubbing. I know, because when she wasn’t looking that Christmas morning I scribbled a test patch across my knee.
Stuart M. Perkins
Storyshucker 