The Yellow Raincoat

Like most children, I suppose, I had a high priority to be like everyone else when I was little.  My parents were not sympathetic. The symbol for me became my raincoat.  My mother bought me an all-weather coat, which made me look, well, like a smaller version of my dad and made me stand out like a sore thumb around all the other kids.  All the other kids had a standard kid raincoat—the slick yellow rubbery kind. 

One year I put my foot down.  I was going to have a yellow raincoat like everyone else or die.  My mother finally relented. 

I wore it to school with great pride the first day it threatened to rain.  It was like I had had a nerd inoculation over the summer.  I arrived at school and hung it up with great relief that I no longer stood out.  I was sure my social problems were over!

At some point during the day it started to rain; not just light rain, a deluge.  It was a Noah-like flood.  Now I was not worried about the rain.  My mother never failed to pick me up when it rained.  I knew she would come get me. 

The final bell rang.  I put on my yellow raincoat, and I went out to the car pool lane.  My mom, however, was not there.  I was surprised, but I started to walk home.  New raincoat or not, I was getting soaked.

I hadn’t gone far when, sure enough, my mom drove by.  She was going very slowly and peering out the window.  I waved.  She did not stop.  She headed on toward school.  I kept heading home, now mildly annoyed.

I looked back over my shoulder.  She was making another pass, driving slowly, clearly looking for me.  I waved my arms in the air like someone lost at sea trying to catch the rescue plane’s attention.  Once again, she did not stop.  She just drove on by.  I was way beyond annoyed at that point, and when I finally walked in the door, soaking wet, I let her know about it.

“I came looking for you,” she explained. 

“I know.  I waved and waved and you didn’t stop.”

“I looked and looked,” she responded.  “But I couldn’t tell which one you were.  Everyone looked alike in their yellow raincoats.”

Now, to this day I’m not absolutely sure whether or not she couldn’t tell which one I was and didn’t stop or she did see me waving and decided to teach me a lesson.  Same difference, I suppose. 

In the waters of Baptism, Jesus is proclaimed to be who he is, which is hardly being like everyone else.  A voice from heaven announced, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased” (Mk. 1:11).  Baptism is about becoming who we are, who we really are, who we uniquely are. 

That’s why Baptism involves water, I think.  It’s so we can decide whether we’re going to put on a yellow raincoat like everyone else or face the consequences of being the individual we were made to be.  If we choose the latter, one of the things we’re going to have to face is standing out in a crowd, as immaturely uncomfortable as that might be.

Peace,