Breaking Pencils.
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(Dedicated to Ashlie and Maurice who gave me the image of pencils)
Red
The teacher assumed her position at the desk with a regal sense of power. With the stack of essays before her, she reached for her sacred red pencil and began her professional rite. Crossing out the extraneous clauses, circling misspelled words, she did her best to identify all that was wrong. Such feedback, she felt, was “an opportunity for growth” for her students, but they were too distracted by the clock on the classroom wall.
Black
The writer closed the door to his office and prepared for the day ahead. He was beginning another novel and had a clear vision of the plot and characters. It was his job, he felt, to make the story come alive, so he reached for his pencil and pad with a sense of sacred obligation. Never did he stray from his predetermined narrative; Never did a character become someone other that what he designed. He and his editor were always surprised his novels did not have better sales.
Red
As the end of the year approached, the boss scheduled his reviews. With hours of preparation and input from others, he sought to assess each employee thoroughly and fairly. To help them improve was his role as boss, and the best way to do that, he felt, was to point out their areas of weakness and suggest improvements. Productivity overshadowed moral, as it did every year.
Black
Hers was a “perfect family,” or so many on-lookers felt, but such an appearance did not come without effort. Coming from a broken, messed-up family, she was determined to give her children (and herself) the kind of family of which they could be proud. From as early as high school she determined the kind of husband she would marry, place they would live, and paths her children would take. She felt a sense of pride as they gathered for the taking of the annual Christmas card and encouraged everyone to smile.
Red
“That was a wonderful speech,” the audience member offered as she greeted the speaker, but he could only offer the ways the speech fell short of his hopes. It'd always been that way. Better to point out my faults, he thought, than to let others do it. Whether in speaking, parenting, or working, he was his first and most thorough critic. With so many people encouraging him, he could not understand why he was so unhappy.
Black
“Your father would be so proud,” the friend of the family offered at the twenty-year employment celebration. His father helped him get his first job there after college, and he felt obliged to carry on the family tradition of working for the company after his father died. As they described his long career, it sounded like they were talking about his father. Maybe they were.