Some say it is just a pencil.

Nothing special. An ordinary stick of orange-colored wood. And the way people treat the #2 reflects their disdain, you can often find one buried deep in the corners of the kitchen junk drawer – – you will usually find it lying next to the 10-year-old roll of tan masking tape and the single unused AAA battery.

But as for me, I can’t stop singing the # 2’s praises.

It may not be as fancy as an old-fashioned feather quill, or exquisite as a golden-crusted Montblanc Ballpoint that you can buy for $200; but the old # 2 has always served me well. No, I have never pulled one out of my a tailored black coat to sign a marriage contract under the adoring eyes of a newlywed couple, but the humble orange pencil has been with me when I needed it most. 

It was there through the moments of life when a more expensive quill was too good for the occasion.

#2 let me chomp on its sides as I would ponder the answer to an algebraic equation before I used it to mark the circle of the Scantron test. It was the dark lead of the number two that was heavy enough to work allowing me to pass another Iowa Basic. A regular Bic ballpoint would never do.

I can fondly remember my dad using the hardy #2 as he made marks on the wooden shelving that he was building for my mom. After each measurement and marking a solid straight line with the durable tip, he would place the trusty #2 behind his ear to keep it ever at hand. Hours and hours that #2 spent ready and waiting to make another crucial measurement and mark. 

You will never see the fancy ink pen that sits on the banker’s desk in the hand of your father on a sunny Saturday afternoon in the workshop next to the sawdust and drill bits. But there you will find the #2.

I can fondly remember coming home from the art store with a new drawing pad full of clean white pages calliing out to be used. After opening to the first page I quickly ran to the kitchen drawer to pull out the always ready #2. It formed perfectly to my curved hand and it gave new life to a Godzilla monster, a pine tree or special heart to give to my mom on Mother’s Day. #2 was always there to lend a sharpened black tip.

Some of the best masterpieces I ever made as an 8-year-old neighborhood artisan were with the humdrum #2.

But more than any other thing, I treasured the #2 for its soft pink eraser. It was the one thing that looked past my mistakes. Never judging, always erasing. Giving me another chance. You can’t say that about the elite Parker Jotter London Retractable pen, it can make make dark marks but it can’t ever forgive them.

I drew most of my art homework assignments with the number two, not because the lead was better than the graphite HB pencils, but because of that kind pink bottom end. It always bailed me out. When I made a nose look like a banana, the #2 helped me fix it to look human again.

I love the #2.

At times I was forced to take the sad pencil to the sharpener to be reduced down to size; but it was willing, always willing. Even though it was a tad bit smaller it came back better and cleaner without complaining at its diminished height. I have even used a #2 when it was reduced to nothing but a nub, it just wanted to be of service.

You can have your gel pens, an Aurora Diamante Fountain, an Apple Ipad Stylist, or even a Thomas Jefferson parchment pen. I will even offer you a thinline Sharpie to suit your higher tastes. Go ahead, use them, all I want is an old #2. That’s enough.

You know, come to think of it, I wish more people were like that pencil. The world would be a better place!