“What color do you see for Monday?” my son Jack asked as I heaved a chicken into the oven. “What?” I said distractedly, turning from the oven to slice some potatoes at the counter. It was late afternoon one day last fall, and I was preparing dinner and managing the demands of homework and tired toddlers. (One was in a tiara.)
“What color is Monday?” he asked again, his robotic voice rising ever so slightly in irritation. “I don’t see Monday as a color. Do you?” I asked, finally tuning in to what he was talking about.
“Yes. All days are colors.”
All days are colors. On a seemingly ordinary day, Jack once again granted me the privilege to take a tiny peek inside his fascinating mind. Without preamble, he rattled off which color he associates with each day. And then, just as suddenly as the conversation began, he snapped his mind closed and moved on to something else entirely. I tried to probe further; why was Saturday purple? Was the entire day purple, or just the morning? “I told you. No more.” he responded in a clipped tone.
Out of our discussion, a book title was born. Riddle Brook Publishing has asked me to write a book based on our life with an autistic child. I originally wanted to call the book Thursday is Purple, but a couple of weeks ago Jack off-handedly remarked that Thursday is sometimes green. (Come on, Jack-a-boo. I’m trying to write a book about you here. For real.)
And so, What Color is Monday? it is.