It was the year 1984, and with a head full of black hair, I entered the world kicking and screaming during the 13th hour.  There I was, pink, precious, and fatherless. Well, not actually fatherless, but his name was left off my birth certificate nonetheless.

While my sperm donor flirted with the nurses down the hall, my mom was bringing an ugly baby girl into the world. Seriously, I was hideous. Ugly babies do exist, and I was one of them. My mom left the sperm donor less than a year later and it was just me and her for a while.

As I transformed from my ugly baby form into a young girl, my imagination takes center stage. Innovation and my love for color are intrinsically a part of me long before I even knew who I was. In my early years, my creativity wasn’t appreciated. Especially if you ask my mother.

“Jessi!” My mother would scream. “You can’t color on the walls! We’re renting, for fucks sake.”

Wide-eyed and curious, I can’t help but wonder what renting is. Soaking in her angry expression, I don’t dare ask this question.

Don't COLOR?

Of course, this isn't something my colorful imagination can possibly understand. Nonetheless, I mumble apologies to my mother as I watch her wipe away my artwork.

A few days later, I find a more creative place to color. Determined to keep my mother from becoming angry with me once again, I climb my little creative body to the top bunk and proceed to color on the ceiling instead.

Problem solved.

By the time I’m done and the ceiling is littered with my fine artwork, I’m incredibly pleased with myself. My mother, however, is way less than pleased. As she’s screaming at me once again, I simply don’t understand.

I was just trying to color the world beautiful in the only way that I knew how at the time.

Little did I know that one day, I would color the world. At least parts of it. One jar at a time.