When I was little, my mom would never allow glitter in the house. That meant all the artist tools that kids love — glitter glue, tubs of glitter with Elmer’s, etc. — were off limits. As a child who believed glitter makes everything better (who doesn’t?), this was annoying. I just wanted to make everything sparkle.
Now I understand why glitter is a parent’s nightmare.
Once a week, I tutor an elementary school student in reading and writing. So on Tuesday evening, I brought a new composition book for my student to journal in — and I found a box of glitter pens with which to decorate the cover.
Of course, my student thought the glitter pens were tubes of joy. But I soon learned what these little plastic flecks are capable of.
The hair on the back of my student’s head was shimmering gold. The table was shining purple. I looked down, and my hands were suddenly covered in glitter.
How did a small amount of glitter make such a mess?
I was like that student once — I just wanted to make everything sparkle. Now I’m one of those adults who is irritated to find glitter on my clothes. This was just another instance that showed me how much my outlook has changed in the last 15 years and how objects I once found endearing — glitter, Rugrats, plain marshmallows — have lost their veneer.
All that glitters is not gold.