Nic Narrates

Sometimes the rain whispers things I didn’t know I’d forgotten. A childhood memory or two.

Out my Dad would leap into the downpour, spry and childlike, checking his gutters and downspouts- verifying their draining capacity. Ever the engineer. Once the lawn chairs had been set up in the gaping coolness of the garage, out my brother and I would tumble after him, tanned scrawny arms and knobby knees. We’d bobble on tip toes, squealing at the feel of slick green grass sprouts between our eight and five-year old toes. All around us birds scurried for cover, chirping in mock protest at the sky’s outburst.

It never took long before we’d tire of Dad’s studiousness and run off to jump in greasy street puddles instead, tugging our shorts up as high as they’d go lest the street oil leave spots and Mom should find out, have to “Shout it out.” Racing along the length of the curb, kicking and splashing and stubbing toes; we’d laugh moronically, singing a Rainy Day song: “It’s rain-ning, it’s pour-ring, the old man is snor-ring…” Until lightening flashed and thunder boomed.

We’d knowingly return then to the dark recesses of the open murky garage, leaving behind our filmy rain puddles to make concentric rain drop circles. One by one, damp and panting, we’d take our places in the brightly-colored, scratchy plastic and aluminum chairs. Beside Dad who sat quietly waiting, peaceably listening to the rain. The hushed sound of rain falling, tipping leaves downward, sliding off rooftops, wetting mud piles where new geraniums awaited planting.

Rain washing away. Today, bringing back.

Filed under: childhood, family matters, in memory, nostalgia, whimsy by Nic