Fuck the Rainbow
A few days ago, my husband called my son and me to come see a rainbow. My son opened the door, looked outside and acknowledged that yes, there was indeed a rainbow. Apparently that wasn’t sufficient. He had to go outside and properly appreciate it. So he stepped outside, turned to come back in, twisted his ankle and hit his knee on the tile floor. He yelled in pain. I immediately went to him, trying to figure out where he was hurt and whether he was okay. And while I was doing that, my husband was still trying to get my attention. I needed to go outside. I needed to see the rainbow. And without thinking, I said: “Fuck the rainbow. I’m worried about our son.” Not exactly the sort of inspirational quote you expect to find printed over a watercolor sunset at Hobby Lobby. It wasn’t my best Hallmark moment. But I’ve thought about that sentence quite a bit since then, b ecause I don’t have anything against rainbows. It wasn’t really about the rai...