The Pink where a Yellow should be

It's fitting that iKaleidoscope's first entry has something to do with color and shape.

My sisters and I summered at our family's seaside home in southern Maine back in the 1970s. My best friend was Gordon, who lived with his family across the street. Gordon and I would do all sorts of stuff together: fish for mackerel, fly kites, water-ski, swim, sail, and fish for mackerel.

Our house was a peachy 'beachy' house. Sand dollars and dried starfish on windowsills; lobster bouys and a lobster trap here and there. And hanging on a staircase wall was a large, colorful beach towel. It depicted an illustration of the sun crafted from mosaic pieces of different colors and shapes. We had no lack of towels, so this particular specimen served its life as a piece of wall art for all to see and admire. It really was a beautiful towel, and Gordon always thought so too.

One day we decided to have a little fun with Gordon. I pointed to the towel and said, "You know...there's a defect in this towel. In one spot, the color scheme doesn't quite follow the pattern...There's a pink where a yellow should be." My mother and sisters, eager to earn their 'co-conspirator' badges, nodded in agreement: Yes, there was a pink where a yellow should be.

Well, Gordon stared and stared at that towel. He stared at it that day. He stared at it that week. That summer. And summers that followed. It was Gordon's Rubik's Cube; his Da Vinci Code. Surely there was a logic to the color scheme that would blossom in a magnificent 'Ah-HA!' moment. But from one summer to the next, he never could find the pink where the yellow should be.

Of course, the pinks and yellows were exactly where they should have been all along. But thanks to a code of silence and straight faces all around, Gordon never did discover the truth until many years later. It was harmless fun, good fun...and a memory that will always remain with us and (especially) with Gordon.