When I was very young my parents would sometimes drive me to Holland Michigan to visit my grandparents for the day.

Driving up to their familiar house on the left side of the street is engraved in my memory forever. The front yard felt open and bare, but the grass was a shade of green that was healthy and lively. After pulling into the driveway and getting out of the car, my dad would always say to my mom “watch your step” just before she tripped over the single-step leading to the door.

My grandparents would always expect us; my grandma would open the door to greet us and tell us to come inside. We walked up the steep, short steps into the kitchen full of green cabinet doors and fresh fruit. 

My grandpa would walk down the stairs, meet us in the kitchen, and give everyone a hug. I called him “punky pie.” It was always a nickname he knew I called him, but every time I said it he would laugh in amusement. 

My parents would stay and chat for a couple of minutes, catching up on life, but soon after they kissed me goodbye and left. They got into the car and drove away. My grandparents always asked me what I wanted to do next.

We always ended up making a “potion” out of sugar, water, and anything else I could get my hands on. Or we would go outside and I would feed the fish in their pond and try to catch tadpoles on lilypads. But one time I decided to change things up.

My grandma and I made our way outside, her carrying her cup of tea and me carrying a box of Crayola washable markers.

I would take every bright color I could find, from Cherry Tomato Red and Small Fry Yellow to Twist O’ Lime green and Blue Eyes blue. I would grab each marker, take off the cap, and start to draw.

I didn’t like drawing on paper so I decided to draw on my legs. I would draw huge flowers with five petals drawn in the Cherry Tomato Red, I would draw a sun just below my knee in Small Fry Yellow, I would draw swirls and other patterns in any other colors available. 

Both of my legs, by the end of the day, were covered in colorful pictures and symbols. In my eyes, I saw a masterpiece. I never knew what my grandparents thought of my “artwork” but I know how my parents felt.

My parents would roll up to the side of my grandparent’s house and get out of the car. I would be sitting outside with my grandparents, most likely feeding the fish or finishing up on my art. They walked up to me and saw my legs.

My mother was horrified and I think my dad was confused. The fronts and backs of my legs were covered with flowers, rainbows, and different planets.

My parents and I waved to my grandparents and we took off. As soon as we got home I was instructed to rub off the marker.

I would get into the bathtub and scrub at the lines and curves I had drawn, and soon they had turned into smudges, almost like tie-dye.

When I was done washing, most of the colors were gone from my legs. But more vibrant colors didn’t want to leave.

I was told I was never allowed to write on my legs in those Crayola washable markers again, but when I would visit my grandparents I would still get out that tub full of markers to write on my legs.

My grandma and I made our way outside, her carrying her cup of tea and me carrying a box of Crayola washable markers.