Substack: Rainbow Clash Gurus

This past holiday season my magical Christmas gnome of a husband surprised me with a knock on the door. In mid-sentence of a self-help book, he asked me to answer it.  I begrudgingly put my book down with an eye role while he continues working as his desk. Upon opening the door, I immediately looked down and in barge two sauntering rainbow clashed children. Behind them were my jetlagged sister and her husband. In my pajamas, confused, still seeking self-realization, I snagged both of the girls in my arms, undeterred to make this a picture-perfect memory, despite the snaps and crackle that came from my back. It struck me that in that moment in my arms I held two of the most wonderfully blatant answered prayers. Both girls moved with whimsical freedom that bordered on tyranny. The world was theirs to touch, taste and chew. 

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The love I saw in both my sister and her husband’s eyes for these girls was not familiar. Neither they nor I grew up in a context that would warrant such resolved affection from parents who were trying to forge a life in a system that treated them like game. California in the 80’s for Latinos meant immigration raids and gang violence that crescendo in race riots that played out on active faultlines. Family life revolved around survival, while any foundation laid out was plotted on quicksand at best.  

 

While out to dinner one night the girls experienced their first snowfall. After a snow fight the eldest, Luna, five years old, procured a cup and spoon to collect samples of snow from various surfaces. She even collected a handful and placed it in her pocket to take back home to San Francisco. Their glittering curiosity was offset my brutal wrestling matches not unlike the theatrics of a soccer players or other contact sports that always ended in laughter and tears.  

 

My duties as a gay uncle of a certain age required me to introduce them to Madonna. Upon playing Madonna’s Frozen video, Luna responded by covering her ears and saying “Wow, I have to go wash my eyes, I’ve never seen anything like this.” I felt I had done my job. Beyond what I could empart on them in their fugitive attention, I was struck and immobilized by my innate adoration for them. Judgment for their tantrums and demands aside, I realize that if I just stood next to them a let them play out their treaties and deliberations of the burgeoning world around them, I would be privy to occult secrets about manipulating joy and moving in a cold world in full color.