It was the summer of 1986 and we had just moved into our new house. My parents were busy unpacking various boxes and my little brother Raj and I were playing in his brand new bedroom. I was four years old, but even from that young age I knew I wanted to be an artist. Sitting in my brother’s room I decided that we should draw a picture for my parents. After all, the crayons and markers were one of the few things already unpacked and parents like it when their children draw for them, or so I thought. I asked Raj to help and he would have agreed save for one small detail. I wanted our picture to be drawn on the big brand new blue wall above his bed. The bigger our canvas, the bigger our picture could be and therefore all the more special to our parents.
“Come on Raj, let’s draw a picture.”
“No, we’ll get in trouble.”
“No we won’t, they’ll love it.”
I handed him a crayon and waited for him to cave. He looked at me, at the wall, at the crayon in his hand, then back at me and there was only one choice he could make. He grasped the crayon in his small hand and went to work. Pretty soon we had crayons and markers in each hand and we went to town. Standing on his bed we could reach pretty high towards the ceiling, and before long our masterpiece covered almost the entire wall. It was a beautiful array of colors set upon the light blue backdrop. I stood back to admire our work and at that moment Mom walked into the room. I happily revealed our art, but for some reason beyond my four-year-old intellect she wasn't too pleased with us. We were in serious trouble, but at least I had my brother right there with me to share the blame.
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