Buttercup Yellow

Buttercup yellow. That was it. The color of my Daddy's 1970-something Volkswagen Beetle. Black vinyl seats with square stitch texture where gray dust would settle and I'd try to dig it out with my fingernail. Hot and sticky and sweet and sour in the Texas sun.

I always think of it when the subject comes up.

I was riding in the backseat, Daddy was driving and my little brother was riding shotgun though I'm certain he couldn't see over the high, flat metal dash....seat belt stretched across his neck, threatening beheading in the event of a crash. We were taking the turn from 410 eastbound onto I-35.

Daddy asked me the color of a passing car.

"Daddy! Don't be silly, you know what color that is."

"No, baby....I don't."

It was the first time he ever told me he was color blind. And I cried for him.

He told me my Grandma Garcia would send him to the store for thread when he was little and he would come back with the wrong color and she'd tell him he was stupid.

She didn't know then, either.

*******

2 year old Sunshine is learning her colors. We gather up the plastic Easter eggs on the floor of Grandma's living room and I ask her to show me the pink one. 8 year old Wes points and says "There it is!"

"No, baby....that one's blue."

And I see the buttercup yellow Volkswagen Beetle rounding the curve onto I-35.

Sweet and sour in the Texas sun.