Serious Considerations (Journal)

"I want a pink, sparkly pony", demands the little girl.

Almost as monotone as a automated teller, "Now sweetie, would you like that on your face or your arm?"

"I'd like it on my arm, please"

"Okay", I am amazed how polite she is.

Next to me is a set of airbrushes. Each with its own individual color: red, green, blue, yellow, white, black and pink. I grab the pink gun and the corresponding stencil.

For an instant, my mind flashes. Does this girl want a solid pink horse? Or does she want it garnished with another color? Does she want the advertised horse? Or is she expressing her own vision?

To me, it always looks better with a touch of complexity.

However, some little girls are very insistent on solid pink, and this devotion can be quite strong. As if any deviation from this solid color would be a breach in ethics. Others are disappointed, when they discover that solid pink has no other hue. Still others, don't just want pink, they want hot pink. Though it never makes any difference because my pink is always the same.

I consider for a brief moment asking the girl precisely what she wants, but as the line quickly grows, speed becomes a factor, and I make the choice for her.

The stencil goes on her arm. It barely fits. This stencil will be blurry at the edges, but I can't think of a way of pressing the stencil down without hurting her. I spray it with pink, add touches of black and slap on some glitter.

The horse comes out beautiful, but the edges of the horse are frayed. It could have been better, but it's good enough to send her away. I restrain my thoughts and focus on the color. "Wow! It's beautiful! It looks lovely on you! You should see how beautiful it is. Go look in the mirror!"

For the girl to believe my words, they have to be expressed with genuine excitement. For children, unlike adults, can sense dishonesty in tone. I do this, and she is pleased. She smiles and goes to the mirror. Of course, she can see the stencil, but I won't really know how she feels until she sees herself.

As she leaves, I beckon the next kid to the painting chair. I'm expecting at least 200 of these little interactions.

The little girl, now staring at herself in the mirror, seems to be contemplating her appearance. For a moment I worry that she won't like it. She stares intensely at the mirror and just when I can't stand the tension. Her face erupts and broadens into a smile. "It's so pretty! I love it!" and she points at her sparly, pink pony.

I'm relieved. Of course she likes it. I told her to like it.