By Estelle Sobel Erasmus
My daughter has a passion for the color purple. If an article of clothing doesn’t have some shade of purple in it, forget about it. She shakes her little head, tendrils of curls flying around, and says, “no, mommy. I want the purple shirt…purple pants…purple socks…purple backpack…purple sneakers.”
Ok Ok. I get it. You want it because its pretty? No. You want it because its functional? No. Oh, that’s right. You want it because its…purple!
Now I must admit I was always a red girl, and for some reason as I’ve gotten older my loyalties have shifted to blue and green. I don’t have a problem with purple per se. What I have a problem with? Identifying the need for an item solely based on its color.
I blame it on Barney! There, I said it. That adorable purple dinosaur who sang, danced and encouraged her to “use your imagination”, he’s the culprit in this purple kiddie caper. But I’m to blame, too. Wasn’t I the mommy who sang along with him, encouraging my daughter to bond further to me with the hypnotic words from Barney’s theme song, “I love you, you love me, we’re a happy family“? Did she somehow in her developing baby brain connect the color purple with the feeling of love she gets from me and her daddy?