Rainy Days

"Parents can only give good advice or put them on the right paths, but the final forming of a person's character lies in their own hands." ~Anne Frank

My daughter loves the Disney Princesses. Her favorite one has always been Ariel, the Little Mermaid. For her third birthday, I bought her an Ariel umbrella. It was a just a cheap child’s umbrella, but she loved it a lot. She loved it so much that it seems I have been buying an Ariel umbrella every six months for the past two years. I’ve figured out that the average life-expectancy of a cheap umbrella in the hands of my daughter is about six months. Each time one breaks, we have to get a new one, and no other Princess will do. She has carried Ariel proudly on every rainy day since Preschool, and now, well into Kindergarten. Last week, it was pouring down rain and she opened the umbrella to find it broken. “Great. Way to go,” I thought. But when I saw the look on her face, I knew that her heart was in worse shape than the umbrella.

We ventured out on that rainy Sunday to find a new one. I was secretly hoping that we could find one with Ariel, but trying to prepare her for the possibility that it might be time to let Ariel go. I was worried that our lucky streak was going to run out and she would have to settle for another character. Sure enough, there were no Ariel umbrellas, but I did find one with Hannah Montana on it. “Oh, Look! Hannah will do,” I told her, thinking it would be an easy sell for a five-year-old. And it was, until she saw a pink and black one with Sleeping Beauty on it. “Oh no, you don’t want that one. It’s way too big,” I told her. But she was certain that she had grown enough for “a big-girl umbrella just like Mommy.” I opened it in the store to prove my point to her, that she really couldn’t handle an umbrella that size, yet she was confident she could, so I let her try. I realized that with a little help and practice, she really could open and close it, and away we went with the big umbrella.

We practiced opening and closing it at home. Her little arms could barely stretch to open it all the way, but she managed. She pinched a finger when trying to close it, and she cried. She tried again and again. All afternoon she practiced with that thing. At that point, I hoped it was going to last six hours, never mind six months. She learned to adjust her grasp to push it open and use the release button to close it without pinching herself. For the next three days, she asked, “Do I get to use my new umbrella today? I really want it to rain!” Her big “rainy day” finally came and she couldn’t wait to take her umbrella to school and show her friends. She was so excited when she jumped out of the car at school that I didn’t even get my usual good-bye kiss.

She sprung from the car and rushed right up to two friends on the sidewalk. I watched through the window as she talked a mile a minute, and although I couldn’t hear the conversation, I had a pretty good idea of how it was going. I could see the excitement on her face, but she was having trouble getting it to stay open. As I peered through the window, a huge piece of my heart was aching while I watched my baby standing in the rain, desperately trying to open her new treasure. “Come on. Hold it like you practiced. Lord, please help her get that thing open,” I said out loud. By then, she had quite a gathering of friends with their own umbrellas who had stopped to see hers, but she still couldn’t get it completely open. The car line was moving and I had to go, but I watched impatiently in the mirror for as long as I could.

As a parent, even something this simple was hard for me. If I had been standing next to her, I could have helped her, or at least coached her through it. My first instinct would have been to just open it for her, so that she could show her friends. At that moment, it hit me: I can’t always be there for her to open the umbrella, to shield her from the rain, and see that she is successful in her endeavors. At little points that come all too quickly in life, I have to step back and let her have a go at things on her own.
Although I drove her to school that day, I had taken a “back seat” before her feet ever hit the sidewalk. She didn’t turn around to wave goodbye like usual, and she had no idea I continued to watch and secretly cheer her on. The older I get, the more I recognize the wisdom my daddy dispensed during my childhood and my turbulent teenage years. It must have been difficult for him to watch me make my own choices and inevitably, some mistakes. Some choices weren’t always the best ones, but in retrospect, I know that he was always watching and praying for me. Sometimes the greatest help a parent can give a child is not a “handout” or “help up.” The greatest help is to be a strong example. Thanks Dad, you’ve always been that for me.


There will always be rainy days and times when even an umbrella (or a parent) can’t protect us from the storms of life. Sometimes the situations and plans we imagine don’t turn out the way hope or anticipate. No amount of preparation, planning, and rehearsing can insure that life’s situations will always work in our favor. But chances are, if the parents have laid the groundwork for a strong foundation, a child will be able to stand on his own. As a parent, I try to give her all the necessary tools for success and the wisdom to know how to use them. But ultimately, it will be up to her to define what her success and future will be. She will make the choice to use the wisdom or “learn the hard way.” I’m not a perfect parent, but I know that my daughter was the brightest and most beautiful thing I saw on that rainy day. I wasn’t able to see if she got the umbrella open before I drove away, but I wondered all day, because I knew how important it was to her. When I got home that afternoon, she had a story to tell that shined with accomplishment.

MAMA'S GIRL