Two Truths and One Lie - Told in Colors

On the first day of class, Mr. Lewenstein asked us to write down three paragraphs about ourselves.  TWO of them had to be true.  ONE of them had to be a lie.  After 20 minutes, we exchanged our papers with classmates to read.  Here are my three paragraphs.  I wrote about 'houses" in my life.  I like them all, but one of them is B.S.

BLUE: Recently, I went with my family to visit family in Mexico City.   My mother loves art, so she took me to the Frida Kahlo museum in Coyoacan.  This is the famous “Blue House” where she lived with  her husband and legendary painter, Diego Rivera.  It’s a popular tourist destination.  I believe a national government agency has preserved the house so you can get the sense of their life and genius.  Diego has his studio on one end where he created his murals.  Frida has her studio upstairs.  You can still see samples of their original artwork hanging on the walls. My favorite part of the museum was the kitchen.  The colors are beautiful.   Frida loved to cook.  Diego loved to eat.  This is what my mother said to me: “You can still feel the love in the air.” 

PINK:  In Mexicali, we once lived in a pink house.  Or, maybe I should say that we lived in a house that was once painted pink.  My mother loved the color.  She always said the bright colors found everywhere in Mexico – in the markets, the food, the clothes, etc. – are more than just a cultural tradition; they are the reflection of the warm and lively people.  But my father hated the color.  He was lively in another way.  He was a machista. There was no way he would live in a pink house, but every time he tried to paint the house in his favorite color, green,  the pink would eventually seep back through. The color looked like vomit.  It made him so angry.  He thought the house was haunted.  In the end, we packed up and moved.

WHITE: When I was high-school age, I lived in New York City.  I played saxophone in our school jazz band. We were good.  We played jazz, blues, classical music – we were so good, we were invited to play at the White House.   On a weekend in February, we took the Amtrak down to Washington D.C.   We stayed in a motel outside of town and took a bus in for the day of the event. On Saturday night, we played “New York, New York,” inside the East Wing of the White House.  We met the President’s Marine Band.  They were all dressed in scarlet jackets.  Afterwards, Michelle Obama gave each and every one of us a hug.  How cool was that?  I’ll never forget it.  She told me she would never forget it either; then she told me to go to college.  Here I am.