Growing up in Florida, something we Floridians had to deal with aside from pesky mosquitos, countless encounters of lizards and frogs, and the horrors of unexpected flying palmetto bugs occasionally finding their way into your house during the rain. It rains so much in Florida as a kid, we all experienced our fair share of getting soaked at some point and going throughout our day at school with soggy socks and sneakers. We could be walking home from our bus stop or playing outside, and it would unexpectedly pour with not as much as a cloud in the sky and the sun shining bright for as little as 10 minutes, and often it would even only rain across the street leaving your house and yard as dry as a bone. Those phenomena were superstitions we all grew up hearing that meant when that happened, a witch was getting married. Being rained on was just a part of life all Floridians grow up accepting because of how often it happened year around them. Because many of us grew up poor or slightly above being poor, none of us had umbrellas or raincoats outside, maybe a trash bag or a poncho that usually was less effective than the trash bags considering the budgets our parents were working on back then. If a kid had an umbrella or any kind of rain gear (coats, hats, boots, etc.), they were considered privileged and usually would end up being made fun of, or what is now known as flamed or roasted, it wasn’t worth bringing to school or showing off. If you were a bus rider or walked home and your parents weren’t able to pick you up on rainy days, which most couldn’t because they couldn’t afford the time off of work, the expectation was to haul ass as fast as you could to your destination with the logic that your parents thoroughly explained was something along the lines of the faster you run to get to where you needed to be the less wet you’d get. It would even be suggested at one point or another to put our book bags over our heads as if we lived in some sort of alternate universe where that not only made logical sense to keep us dry under any circumstance, but it was the 90’s so us kids could never voice that in fear of it being misinterpreted as talking back which was a huge “bet not” back in those days. The countless knots across children’s heads during those times served as testaments to that.
Living in southern California and raising my kids here, they will never be as cultured with the struggle of the rain as their father and I did because of how rare and little it rains here. When it does rain, my kids, especially the younger two, show how Californian they are with how dramatic they get, especially for being the car riders they are. I honestly have no idea where it came from, but my little ones had a pink umbrella they shared on the rare days it rained they’ve had for almost two years now. Because of the madness with the unusual weather we’ve experienced this winter, their umbrella was used more than it was used to wearing beyond its fragile limits causing it to flip inside out at the slightest hint of wind. Every time it did, I got a good laugh out of it as I watched my kids act like the rain was acid as they freaked out until it was fixed for it to happen all over again every few steps they took walking to and fro the car as I finally got to experience being grown enough to tell my kids the faster they ran, the less wet they’d be or to use their book bag to cover their heads. It got to the point where I had to talk seriously with them about finally putting the umbrella to rest, which meant chucking something in the trash outside.
My mom is here visiting with my aunt, and on our weekly run to Walmart insisted she needed to buy her grandbabies a new umbrella because God forbid they get wet and catch a cold walking to and from the car as they’re dropped off and picked up from school. You’d think my kids won the golden ticket to willy Wonka and the chocolate factory with how excited they were when she gave it to them. They expressed their excitement and appreciation to her every day it rained that upcoming week as soon as they came home from school to give her hugs and kisses. My mom has always been the kind of woman who rewards gratitude, so of course, during our next Walmart run that upcoming weekend, she had to buy another one for her grandson because God forbid her precious grandbabies to have to huddle under one umbrella. She presented it to my son as soon as we got home, and he was so excited to have it that he insisted on helping out carrying the bags of groceries with it open in case the clear and sunny forecast changed, causing as much as a drop of rain to fall from the sky like it was Florida. As a Floridian, one can only imagine how hard I rolled my eyes as he carefully carried the bags in one by one realizing how ironic it is that I, of all people, am in a position where I’m raising privileged kids by definition of my upbringing. Mom Life.
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