"Do you mean, did I see color when I looked outside?" I asked, wondering where this question stemmed from in his sweet mind.
"Yes," he said simply. No more. No less.
And then it dawned on me. There are photos of days long ago, years past, farmers who stood tall and men who dressed up for church.
Photos of great Grandmas and Grandpas on refrigerators. He knows they are old and they are in black and white, and he has not seen many pictures of me when I was a child, so he is wondering, did I see color.
"Do you mean did I see color because some old photos are in black and white so you think they only saw in black and white?" I ask with a smile looking back at him now looking out the window of the car.
"Yes, because the black and white," he nods his head smiling because he is understood.
"Yes, I saw color..." and I go on to explain the best I could how photos were developed with only black and white at first.
"Because they had no ink?" he asks innocently, most likely thinking how often our printer is out of ink these days.
"Well, is was different back then," and I want to go on to explain the advances in photography, transportation, technology, and medicine, but all I can focus on is the question of color.
We might have those advances from generations past, but the fact is with each of those major breakthroughs came a price.
A price of less time to be outside in order to take photos, less freedom to just walk with a friend, less words because of the chopping down of real communication, and more stress ebbing the life away from every day.
Did I see color? My room was a bright yellow. Mac, our dog, was a brown, golden brown, white mix. Cissy, our cat, was grey and black. Our first van was maroon with a yellow stripe. My parents' bedroom carpet was blue. The water I had swimming lessons in was blue from the high dive. The fire when we went camping was red and yellow. The pebbles at Pebble Beach were white and grey.
Yes, my child, I saw color. But sadly, with the hurry of my life, I tend to not see it as much anymore.
I rush my kids in the car and not see the sunlight hitting their hair. I gulp the smoothie down and not see the specks of God's creation in the mix of strawberries, bananas and spinach. I jog down the sidewalk without noticing the many shades of green found around me.
Oh Lord, may you help me to slow down and really see color today! Your color. Your gifts of life, grace, and love.