The Last Lecture

The Last Lecture
49
Get in Touch with Your Crayon Box
P EOPLE WHO know me sometimes complain that I see things in black
or white.
In fact, one of my colleagues would tell people: “Go to Randy if
you want black-and-white advice. But if you want gray advice, he’s not
the guy.”
OK. I stand guilty as charged, especially when I was younger. I used
to say that my crayon box had only two colors in it: black and white. I
guess that’s why I love computer science, because most everything is true
or false.
As I’ve gotten older, though, I’ve learned to appreciate that a
good crayon box might have more than two colors. But I still think
that if you run your life the right way, you’ll wear out the black and
the white before the more nuanced colors.
In any case, whatever the color, I love crayons.
At my last lecture, I had brought along several hundred of them. I
wanted everyone to get one when they walked into the lecture hall, but
in the confusion, I forgot to have the folks at the door pass them out.
Too bad. My plan was this: As I spoke about childhood dreams, I’d ask
everyone to close their eyes and rub their crayons in their fingers—to feel
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