I discovered my favorite color when I was four years old.
During summer break from school, my grandmother would set up a table for me in our small dining room in front of two windows. The golden sunlight would seep through lace curtains and onto my child-sized linoleum table adorned with clumps of red flowers printed on its cream surface framed by aluminum that matched its folding legs.
Each day, she’d usher me into a red chair parked at the table set with my 3 pm snack, crayons, and coloring book. It was at this table during one of these lazy summer days that I discovered my favorite color. After setting down the blue crayon, which I’d used to color the sky in a drawing of a forest, I picked up the green one for the trees. I then held up the crayon to my eyes and felt a sense of peace.