I used to think rain wasn't real. Growing up in Los Angeles, famous for its year-long summer, a rainy day was a special occasion. Rain sparked a butterfly effect with far-ranging consequences—from causing distressed drivers to lose all coordination to inspiring elated jubilation from all the young kids who looked up at the sky to see unfamiliar drops of water falling without origin or explanation. The normally crystal-clear sky, dotted only with the faintest whisper of clouds, would magically transform. In an instant, the bright blue would give way to a dark, stormy gray, a daunting sight with no yield or mercy. This sudden interjection, an inexplicable faltering of what I thought was fact, shook me to my core, transforming my familiar landscape into one completely unknown. In the land of Hollywood, it was a natural conclusion that rain was not a natural phenomenon but rather the product of movie magic.
At Universal Studios, one of the premier amusement parks in the United States, there is an attraction called the Studio Tour, which takes visitors across old and updated film sets, unveiling the technical and production feats that are so integral to the magic of movies. One of the most memorable parts of this experience is the flash flood attraction, where a sunny street stylized to transport you to Mexico is suddenly transformed by an unexpected deluge. With the press of a button, hidden bars sprinkle rain onto the tram as a rumbling flood begins to rush down the street. Though the artifice is plain to see, nothing has ever felt closer to my understanding of rain. Even after several fifth-grade science classes dedicated to the water cycle, I was never able to shake the nagging feeling that someone was playing a trick on me—that rain couldn't come naturally.
Going to bed with dry skies only to wake up to the roar of pouring rain is a disorienting experience, even for those who understand weather cycles. It's a fascinating process—the imperceptible increases in pressure and humidity accumulating past their carrying capacity, leading to the overflow of liquid that falls down to Earth in the form of rain. It's also a wonderfully comforting idea, that the residues of our human activities collect and evaporate into the skies above us. A daily reminder of our place within the global ecosystem, rain is a gift of reciprocity.
However, to the seven-year-old mind whose only exposure was a rainy day once or twice a year, none of this was accessible or understandable. Instead, rain was something that was angry and scary that made my feet wet and my parents drive slowly. It was what the newscasters blamed for everything and everyone falling apart. It was the reason my teachers refused to let us play outside, confining us to the classroom during recess. In short, rain was an incomprehensible monster that impinged on each and every one of my freedoms and joys.
Rainy days at school threw everything off-kilter. My elementary school, a simulacrum of Los Angeles itself, was the ultimate exercise in sprawl and spread. With classrooms designed as individual bungalows, there was not a single building taller than a story within the entire campus. The classrooms, outlining the expanse of the school, were separated by a sea of concrete and grass, leaving individual classes far from each other. Just like the city itself, the school fell apart when it rained. What was once ample ground for tag and handball became an ocean; the complete lack of drains and pipes left the water to sit in the middle of school, a pool of water continuously widening until it became impassable. Going outside to be picked up meant forging through a river that left your shoes and pants drenched without some clever hopping and jumping. From start to finish, rainy days at school were miserable.
After a long day of being pelted by rain, the only fitting reward was to be hit with more precipitation while waiting for my dad to pick me up. Back then, in a one-vehicle household, my dad made the twenty-minute walk both ways to pick me up. On this day, in the pouring rain, as if it were like any other, my dad made the trek to come get me. As I made my way to the front of the school, I saw him across the street, holding the polka dot umbrella I had foolishly left behind that morning. With my roller backpack in hand, I waited as he made his way across the street, providing the shelter that I had sorely missed throughout the day.
As we headed home, backpack in tow, my dad held my hand, holding the umbrella over me. We gently crossed every crosswalk, now transformed into a treacherous sea, as my dad lifted me up and over any threatening pools of water. What seemed an unbreachable ocean revealed itself to be nothing more than a puddle after I had passed; slowly but surely, we made our way home, moving forward despite the many detours.
In that moment, despite all the earlier annoyances, things felt perfectly normal. Rain continued to pour down on us, creating a staccato beat of droplets hitting the nylon of the umbrella, but it failed to register. Instead, as I was telling my dad about my day, going through everything from math to recess, everything was okay. Despite the backdrop of gray skies and rainfall, it was a sunny day.
Now, almost three thousand miles from home, rain is a much more common occurrence. With my first taste of seasons, I have also learned that rain is a common event during spring, not winter. I have learned that rain sometimes comes to drench the city for multiple days straight without respite. I have learned that sometimes rain can be wonderful; it allows people to release their inhibitions in its sheets of water. I now see it as more than a disturbance in routine.
Yet, despite all this newfound appreciation, I think back on those days, when rain was my enemy and my dad was the hero who saved me from its clutches, with love and appreciation. I no longer startle at the sound of falling rain, but I also don't get carried over puddles as my dad balances an umbrella in one hand and me in the other. I don't look into a sea of parents and see my dad patiently waiting until I get released from school. I no longer have that feeling of comfort and happiness as our simple conversation makes the rain fade away. Sometimes I wish for those rainy days again.
