(First Honorable Mention (fourth place) in “Published manuscript category in the Reader’s Digest Magazine contest, 1995
It was still early in the afternoon, and it already had been a long, rainy day. It had been raining for most of three days, which was unusual for this area. For my two sons, ages 3 and 6, all entertainment options had been worn out by the end of the first day. The novelty of saving drowning worms, stick and string puddle fishing, and rowing plastic tub boats had lost appeal. The “Rainy Day Olympics” had worn out even faster, due to the inevitable altercations that occurred after each son proclaimed himself the winner of every event.
We hadn’t fared any better with indoor activities until we decided to bake cut-out cookies. As we were taking the last batch of dogs and stars out of the oven, things were looking up. Was that a shaft of sunlight? Could it be that the rain was finally letting up?
Our three noses pressing against the patio window, we saw a glorious sight: a double rainbow so brilliant and defined that every color was vivid and intensely alive. It was so precise and complete that I was sure I could see where it came down. At last, a rainbow worth chasing!
“Get your rain gear on, boys,” I said, hurriedly tossing some still-warm cookies in a lunch bag. “We’re going to look for the end of the rainbow!” Wild scrambling followed, and in a short time we were on the road.
“Watch for the next crossroad; we’ll need to turn right, I think,” I called to my navigators. A couple of miles later, gravel crunching under our tires, we knew we were quite close. “Over there, Mom, turn that way at the next corner!” We had our windows rolled down, and the breeze blowing through the car added to our exhilaration. I couldn’t remember all of the words to “Somewhere, Over the Rainbow,” but we made up our own version—punctuated with squeals and laughter.
We were well out into the countryside, just us and the rainbow, when suddenly, there it was—where the rainbow ended. I pulled the car over to the side of the road, and we slowly got out, quiet, awed by the sight. The gigantic base of the arch, still brilliant, seemed to be firmly planted just over in the next field. We lined up at the fence. Moments passed.
“There’s no pot of gold,” my 3-year old said. We looked again at the plowed field, dark and wet, and at the bright green pasture, glistening under the rainbow. I took a deep breath; the air smelled clean and new. I put my arms around my sons’ shoulders. “No, there isn’t,” I said. We watched as the rainbow began to fade. Then we looked at each other, all smiles, eyes sparkling with discovery. That night I wrote to their grandparents, “Today we went looking for the end of the rainbow. We found it!”
