Rainbow in the Dark
Sheldon Birnie
A stuffed mousey rides a green He-Man tiger around the ruins of a wooden block castle.
Jump on the tiger, my daughter commands mousey. You see the stripes? He’s clean. Jump, jump!
The girl is a sponge for song lyrics, from the Chipmunks to Dio and Abba, the Ramones to Queen and beyond. If she hears it and she digs it, she’ll be singing it, rearranging, remixing and mashing the songs into whatever order she feels most appropriate for her current mood.
Christmastime is coming soon. I want a plane that loop-the-loops. Jump on the tiger. Take a chance on me. Merry Christmas, I don’t wanna fight tonight. No time for losers, we are the champions. On and on, on and on and on.
Baby gal, she’s the younger sibling. Since she was wee, she’s always had more time alone, keeping herself occupied. Left on her own, as it were. The way she goes, for younger siblings. She doesn’t seem any worse for wear. Not yet anyhow. Rather, she’s developed a rich, immersive world of imagination. A stargazer, weaving charms and spells across the realm of the playroom.
I’m a sky unicorn. I live on clouds. My blood is gold and silver. If you see pink in the sky, that’s me. I’m flying above the rainbow.
When drawing, she starts with the head, working upwards as the body, legs, arms and appendages are added. As though her subject, herself and her buddies, are diving down from, or their shoes are floating them upwards towards, the heavens. Their eyes glow, smiles or frowns infectious. As though this were the order of things. Same as it ever was.
She told me straight-faced, once, that the moon is just the sun at night and when you walk in golden halls, you get to keep the gold that falls. I believed her. You would too, I’m certain.
Being second born, she’ll have plenty of time to get used to her older brother’s shadow. Not unlike the elfen Ronnie’s time with Sabbath, following Ozzy’s departure. It took me years, decades even to give those records that he made with the boys the attention they deserved, snowblind to the fact they stand as tall, or taller still, than that initial run of five or six records the lads banged out way back when. Foolishly passed up my one opportunity to experience heaven & hell firsthand. Fool, fool; I rue the decision to this day.
Daddy, the floor is lava. Put on your lava-boots. Here, let me help you. There. Now you’re safe. You’re safe with me, daddy.
Ronnie’s time in the band proved to be a new highwater mark for Sabbath. Those first two records kick ass, a true testament to rebirth, without throwing the baby out with the bathwater. Then, rather than compromise his mystical vision, he stepped out first from behind the Rainbow and then from the shadow of Sabbath. Somehow, Dio began rocking even harder still. Holy Diverthrough Dream Evilare epic bangers, through and through. Dehumanizer’s OK, too.
Baby gal, she doesn’t always go for the hard rock. It hurts my ears, she’ll sometimes say. But when she does, she’s stomping, she’s pumping those little fists. Raising those tiny horns. She does things her own way, on her own time. Try to get her to do otherwise, to follow some prescribed path, you’re in trouble, buster.
Run with the wolf. We are magic. We are fairies. The forest is our home. Run fast as the wolf, daddy.
When she rolls up at daycare, proudly stomping in wearing some mish-mash of patterns she handpicked with utmost care to achieve her aesthetic vision for the day and pulled on herself, I feel that magic in the air. If she’s got something on backwards, inside out, ultra-clashy, whatever, and it’s brought to her attention, she just shrugs.
That’s my style, she says, caring not a whit for the opinion of her teachers, pals, brother, or parents. If she has seen something in her mind and realized it, to the best of her ability, she’s not budging. Neither dragons nor kings or queens could sway her. I like it this way.
Staying true to one’s creative vision, one’s self, however unconventional or seemingly absurd to the outside world, that’s some serious mojo. Dio knew it from Day 1. Baby gal, she knows it too. Not everything’s gonna land. But don’t be afraid to take that leap.
Upside is down. The moon is just the sun at night. The floor is lava but we are magic, our blood gold and silver. We run fast as wolves. Masters of the moon, we fly through clouds in a blur of pink. Jump on the tiger.
Life’s a carousel, little one. Time, a never ending journey. I hope you never lose this spark, baby gal, for that light will serve you well in the darkness. Hold on to it as long as you can. Change not your sacred heart. Remain the dreamer you are today. Dreamers never die, love. They live on and on. On and on and on.
Sheldon Birnie is a writer, reporter, and beer league hockey player from Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. His book Where the Pavement Turns to Sand will be published by Malarkey in 2023. Find him online @badguybirnie.