Blue
Blue is definitely my favorite color. Perhaps that is why I was initially attracted to the Cubs and even to Duke (Blue Devils--indeed). Someone recently told me that blue is a color that people don't like to eat or associate with food. Imagine that--people not wanting to eat blue food as if it's unnatural looking or something. I, on the other hand, love to eat and drink blue products. I love blue. My first car was blue; my friends and I called her the Blue Taxi. My favorite color as a child was compulsively blue. I have never been opposed to wearing blue to the extent that I resemble a Smurfette, which is one of my all-time favorite cartoon characters. For thirteen years, I even had a recurring blue dream (nightmare).
The first time I had the dream, I was almost six. It was shortly after I started school and received my first grade report on the bright yellow-orange cards they tend to use in elementary schools. My grade report was perfect, but the dream that followed was not.
Blue halls. Many shades of blue. Peeling blue paint. Steep wooden stairs that led to a small wooden door that was too small for me to fit through. The small door was always locked, but I would often see a janitor come out of a bigger door and ask me if I wanted to go through, but I wouldn't. I would continue down the spiraled stairs. Up and down, repeatedly. I would finally get to a window where a yellow-orange report card would come spiraling at me, flashing Fs. Calling me a failure. I would take my card with tears clouding my vision and head down a long hallway that lead to a shopping mall in which I would get lost.
At the time, the dream really meant nothing to me. It was official as far as I was concerned--I was "smart." My real report card indicated so. I liked the thought of being associated with excellence. I liked the attention that I received. I liked being the smartest in the class. I remember that when my family moved from Iowa to Colorado, I was forced to skip the fourth grade because Colorado schools were somewhat behind Iowa, and I was bored to tears in the fourth grade. I spent only two weeks in fourth before the meeting was held and I was forced to go to fifth. I was proud that I didn't have to stay in fourth, but I was fearful that I would no longer be the smartest. Once again, blue halls came into play.
The worst part of this recurring nightmare was that it was seemingly prophetic. It represented what would later be my Duke Experience--blue blood blue devils, locked doors that I couldn't fit through even if they were opened, grade reports that told me I was a failure, downward spiral, shopping to ease the pain.
