A priest friend shared with me this writing prompt that he used to give to his high school students. It sounded too deliciously challenging to pass up. So here is my letter to the blind man.
Dear poor Blind Man,
I’ve been asked to tell you about something called green. I suppose a good place to start is to say that it isn’t actually a thing, it is a quality of a thing — a color. Colors exist similarly to how feelings exist. To the fingers grass is long, soft, and tickling; to the eyes it looks green. Besides the size and shape of the blades of grass that our fingers perceive, our eyes see a special quality which is most appealing.
Then too, I might compare green to an auditory experience. Just imagine if your ears had only ever heard silence. The sound of beautiful music would produce a wonderful, shimmering sensation traveling from your ears to your heart. It might be something like that with your eyes, dear Blind Man, if you could see green. Or again, if your mouth had never swallowed anything but water, think of what a surprise it would be to crunch on lettuce for the first time. It would be a whole new phenomenon. . . requiring teeth! The taste would be slightly bitter, very mild, but altogether crisp and refreshing. Green is something like that.
There are other colors, too — red, blue, white, brown, orange — lots of colors, and they all effect us differently. Green is extremely gentle and always joyful. When our eyes see green, we feel excited in a calm sort of way. In nature, green is an indication of life, growth, and health. The appearance and increase of greenness after winter gives us delight, hope, and peace.
Whenever I smell mowed grass, I see green in my imagination and am flooded with a sense of security. Does it make me think of my dad on the lawnmower, taking care of the lawn in his hard-working, mild-mannered, dependable way? I’m pretty sure it does.
In fact, if green were a person, it might very well be my dad; although, I don’t know that it would be your dad, dear Blind Man, or anyone else’s. My dad is so pleasant. I’m sure he must be capable of giving offense to people, but he has never actually shown this ability to me. He is strong — full of physical and emotional endurance of the sort that spares others. He makes me feel completely safe. He is thoughtful, which I believe makes him quiet and which I am certain leads him to be more helpful and less annoying to those around him. In spite of his introverted preferences, he is always quick to say and do the friendly thing. He is very easy and congenial in conversation.
That’s my dad. I’m pretty sure he likes the color green a good deal. I know I love it very much, perhaps because I associate it with my father. And he, in turn, reflects to me, Him for Whom all paternity is named — the One Who came up with green in the first place.
That is the end of my explanation of green. I shared this with my dad a year or two ago to try to tell him how much I love him. He was pleased but a little bashful to receive such praise. Because my father, Brian McCann died this week, he is especially in my heart, thoughts, and prayers. Please join me in praying for the repose of his soul. May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace. Amen.
Prasannanossam3, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons.
