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Paralyzed by a Crayon

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Have you ever been completely undone by a simple question?  I’m not talking about a deep, poetic, stand-at-the-crossroads kind of dilemma. This wasn’t a Robert Frost “two roads diverged in a yellow wood” moment. This wasn’t a Dan Fogelberg fork-in-the-road-in-the-Netherlands existential reckoning.

This wasn’t “What are we having for dinner?” This wasn’t “What college should I choose?”

This was a third grader. She looked at me, without an agenda, and asked: “What’s your favorite color?” I froze. Not a polite pause. Not a thoughtful educator’s delay. A full internal system shutdown.

Apparently, I can analyze literature, discuss theology, untangle social media philosophy, and debate the metaphysics of friendship — but ask me to pick one color from ROYGBIV and I am suddenly buffering. I used to have an answer. “Skittles,” I would say. “Taste the rainbow.”It worked when my audience was less discerning. These days? They are sharp. They know branding when they hear it. I can’t pass off candy marketing as personal identity anymore.

So I stood there thinking: Just pick one. Red. Blue. Green. Move on. But I can’t. Because my brain won’t let me. Black? Well, technically, that’s the absence of color. White? That’s the presence of all colors.  Already we’re in physics. You see the problem.

If I lean into heritage, things get complicated fast.
Mexico: red, white, green.
Ireland: green, white, orange.
Kappa Sigma: red, white, green.
Christmas, my undisputed favorite season, is drenched in red and green. Red and green are running neck-and-neck.

Then there’s the good ol’ red, white, and blue, the United States, the Knights of Columbus. Again, red shows up. White shows up. Blue joins the party with loyalty and depth.

At some point, I realized this isn’t about preference. It’s about biography. When a child asks, “What’s your favorite color?” they assume you simply like one more than the others. But somewhere along the way, colors stopped being aesthetic and started being symbolic.

Red isn’t just red. It’s heritage. It’s Christmas Eve Mass. It’s fraternity ties. It’s boldness.

Green isn’t just green. It’s ancestry. Its growth. It’s memory. It’s both Mexico and Ireland, somehow sharing space at the same table. Blue isn’t just blue. It’s loyalty. It’s commitment. It’s standing for something. Suddenly, I’m not picking a crayon. I’m selecting which thread of my life to elevate above the others.

No wonder I stalled. The third grader was waiting for a one-word answer. Instead, I had a dissertation forming. So how do I solve this for the sake of the blog? I don’t.

I think the real honest truth is, I don’t have a favorite color.I have favorite combinations.

My life has never been lived in single shades. It has been lived in overlaps. Red and green. Red, white, and blue. Heritage and faith. Brotherhood and belonging. Memory and meaning are layered together. That’s the quiet truth behind the question.

Children think preference is simple. Adults know it’s layered. Maturity is realizing that not every “simple” question deserves a simple answer. Still… if you corner me in a hallway and demand a one-word response, I might smile and say: “Red.”

Not because it wins, but because it shows up everywhere. Maybe that’s what a favorite really is, the color that keeps appearing, whether you meant to choose it or not.

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