A fond memory

Me, a kindergartner in pig tails, walks in the door with my painting rolled up under my arm, looking a bit defeated. My oldest brother, Douglas was 18 at the time and very much into The Cure, looking cool, and embracing the 80's goth trend. He sees me and says, "What's that, Jojo? Let me see." He squats down to my level and opens his hands, coercing me to unroll the oversized art paper. I reveal to  him the picture I painted of a rainbow - just sort of floating in the middle of the paper with nothing around it. When you're little everything has to be in the middle, balanced; make sense logically. "I don't like it," I say in my small voice looking down. "The colors mushed together and dripped down." I'm already my hardest critic. Without hesitation or even looking my way he says, "That's what makes it good. I love it." He gets up and smiles at me. I smile back, all doubt washed away.