A Child of the Rain

This entry is part 2 of 12 in the series Issue XI: Winter 2012

By Harris Alpert

The weather is fickle.  I was a child in the past, I am a child now, and I will be a child in the future.  Weather for me is a blessing and a curse.  I know now, in my later years, that weather, its changes over days, weeks, and months at a time parallels the travails of all life.

Back when I was young and walking to and fro to school, I made the trek repeatedly over the same concrete and tarred sidewalks and streets.  That day it poured.  I was wet.  I was soaked throughout.  There was not a dry spot on me.  I was drenched in the mist of time, as that child, as I am now.  The rain was cold.  It had a tendency to quickly turn to ice, forming an invisible black sheet of treacherous frozen slime, daring me with every step I took to launch me into a skid, a path of no return.

As I continued, I ambled on through the frozen daggers of ice which rained down upon me, biting the skin on my uncovered face, and not realizing that this weather, harsh and so cruel, was hardening me for life’s upcoming challenges.  It was difficult to know this back then.  How could I have had any idea what awaited this very vulnerable child of the rain?  As that child I only wanted to get back to my comfortable, warm home, where the people I loved lived, and where my mother could make me a hot chocolate, and I could watch Popeye cartoons on TV.

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