Arielle and the Dancing Colors
A short story for children ages 9-12
Arielle loved to draw with colored pencils and markers and crayons. She didn’t draw the houses and rainbows and unicorns that she had drawn when she was little. Now she drew triangles, circles and squares in all sizes and every color, all dancing together.
Mom said, “Practice the piano and stop wasting time. You’ll never be a concert pianist if you just draw.”
Dad shook his head and said, “The future is in computers. Work hard and one day you might invent the next I-Phone.”
Arielle tried. She really did. But her fingers didn’t move very fast, and coding bored her.
In her room, with her door closed, she drew her colorful designs, then tucked her secret drawings in the closet.
One day, as she was throwing softballs for a friend to hit, the ball struck the broken fence and dropped back into the flowers. When Arielle ran to get the ball, she thought she saw, across the fence, designs like hers. Barely breathing, she stood on tip-toes and stared.
On a clothesline, three quilts danced to the melody of the wind, more graceful than dancers, more colorful than her very best designs.
“Ooooh!” she breathed. “Who lives there?”
“Granny Nancy,” said her friend.
Granny Nancy was nobody’s granny, but once in a while she was Arielle’s babysitter.
“Those are just Granny’s quilts. All she does is sew,” added Arielle’s friend.
Arielle’s heart pounded like a drum. “Granny makes them?”
Her friend nodded. “Mom says she cuts and sews, cuts and sews. All for a stupid blanket.”
“Huh,” said Arielle, as she threw her friend the ball.
Next day, as her after-school sitter played on her phone, Arielle said, “I’m going to my friend’s.” Grasping her favorite drawings, she dashed to Granny Nancy’s house and knocked on the door.
“Look!”
Arielle held her breath and handed Granny the drawings. Granny studied each page carefully. Seriously. As though they mattered.
She stared at Arielle for a long, long moment. “Come see my quilts.” She took Arielle’s hand and led her inside.
Arielle stared. Colorful quilts were everywhere. Pillows on the sofa; hanging like a picture on the wall. A tiny one under a half-filled tea cup. Arielle brushed one with the tips of her fingers.
“Are you the best quilter?”
Granny wrinkled her forehead. “Best? I quilt because colors and designs inside me need to come out. What is best? Depends. Some people’s best means all the corners match. Other people’s best depends on the colors or the design, or even the size of the bits of fabric. A prize is good, but doing the work is better. Watch.”
Granny sat down at her sewing machine, took a small pile of fabrics, and sewed them into a square that fit into other squares like a piece of a puzzle.
Some corners matched perfectly. Some didn’t. All were beautiful.
“Yes,” Arielle whispered. “Yes!” she said. “YES!” she shouted.
She spun around, arms outstretched. “I need to learn,” she said.
“And I will teach you,” said Granny. “First, I must teach your parents. Piano is fun, computers are useful. But best comes from the heart.”
For Parents, Teachers, and Others
In today’s Instagram and TikTok world, competition is fierce. Parents want their children to succeed, to stand out from others. Many even put themselves and their children into mortgage-like debt for the honor of attending a top college.
In recent weeks we have seen that many elite colleges have become machines that turn out progressive zombies. The young people may have excellent resumes or CVs, but under this patina many blindly follow loud, slick, and even evil leaders. If this teaches us anything, it is that new definitions of success are desperately needed.
Years ago, at a party in Cambridge, Massachusetts given by a Harvard staff member, I overheard a conversation I have never forgotten. A professor was pontificating about how all young people needed to attend college. Someone passed by with a tray of snacks. After taking one, he turned back to his companion. “By the way,” he said, “Do you know of any good auto mechanics? I haven’t found one who is competent.”
Somehow this professor did not make the connection between emphasizing white-collar work attainable by a college education, and the dearth of good blue-collar workers. This situation has only gotten worse over time, and what do we have?
Alcoholics who would prefer to repair cars or build furniture but are stuck behind desks;
A generation of educated young men who do not want to work;
Young men and women who are not college material but have been offered no good alternatives;
Marriages falling apart because of discontented partners who hate their jobs;
An epidemic of porn- and gambling-addicted men looking for excitement.
How many of them would love going to work and not need the stimulation of vices if they had been allowed to follow their hearts, skills, and talents, and had found respect and financial security working in “low status” jobs or occupations their parents and teachers never considered?
Arielle wants to please her parents; her parents want what they believe is best for her. But they are not her. She has her own DNA, her own interests, talents, and abilities. By trying too hard to shape her into the mold society has held out, her individual gifts are being stifled.
Hopefully her parents will let her follow her heart. The story ends somewhat ambiguously because the decision will be her parents’. I cannot end this tale on the low note of their refusal, nor can I make them easily acquiesce with a sugary ending.
But if the story can lead to an honest discussion between parent and child, or open a parent’s eyes to the damage that forcing their child into a mold can do, however laudable that mold is in society’s eyes, then I will have succeeded.
Well said!🎉