Abigail Martin

I Can Read Rainbows

Abigail Martin

I have a special skill that was passed down to me by my grandmother – I can read rainbows.

When I was younger, my grandmother and I stayed home together while my parents worked, and we developed a little routine. She lived with us, so when we got out of bed, our slippered feet took us to the kitchen, where we would pour a bowl of Cheerios and sit together at our maple table overlooking a big window. The morning light would stream through the window, bounce off a beveled-glass cabinet, and cast rainbows on the white tile floor. 

Fascinated by these little swatches of colorful rainbow beams, I pointed them out to my grandmother. “How lucky!” she exclaimed. “I can read rainbows! That one says you’re a good girl and we’re proud of you.” From then on I begged my grandmother to read every rainbow we saw. Sometimes the rainbows had words of encouragement, such as “You are smart and funny.” Sometimes the rainbows could tell the future, predicting a friend would come to visit after lunch or that we’d be having my favorite meal for dinner. No matter what the rainbow said, an everyday moment was made magical by these enchanting messengers.

There is something about the innocence of childhood that lets us see all of these magical moments, but they are harder to notice as we get older, especially as things in life change so quickly. There are no longer any rainbows on our kitchen floor. The white tile has been replaced with hardwood, and new energy-efficient windows, while practical, don’t make magic out of sunbeams. Most importantly, my beloved grandmother has passed away.

Despite these changes, I can still read rainbows. 

Some rainbows are easy to see, like an invitation to sit with a new group of friends at lunch or a good grade on a math test. These are clear messages of friendship and praise. These bright moments are like the Dr. Seuss books of rainbow decoding and are how I started to develop my skill. 

However, sometimes rainbows can be confused with storm clouds, and the messages are harder to see, like receiving a graded essay that is dripping with red pen marks of critiques. While my initial reaction may be dread and stress, I have learned to see the rainbow that tells me that the comments are actually meant to help me improve as a writer because the teacher sees my potential. I consider this to be intermediate-level rainbow reading.

Sometimes, days are so cloudy and gray that, no matter how hard I look, there aren’t any rainbows to be seen. On these days, I have taken my grandmother’s early rainbow-reading lessons and developed a new skill. I make my own rainbows. For instance, I participate in a letter writing project that sends hand-made cards and notes to struggling women; these good wishes from a stranger may offer a glimmer of hope to someone in need. By turning my camera on for remote learning I let my teachers know that they are appreciated and are being listened to. By holding a door for an elderly person I can let them know that they are seen and respected. These are small acts but they can have a great impact. 

By helping others, even through small actions, I can make every-day moments magical for others. I can become a light that beams through a prism of kindness, compassion, or friendship to part the clouds and cast rainbows into the world.

Author's Note: This is my Common App essay for college and, at first, I found writing it a bit daunting. After all, what do I even want colleges to know about me? But once I caught onto a topic that came from a genuine, almost meaningless memory I had, I was just able to roll with it and words really just started to spill onto my keyboard. I think, for me at least, I have to be passionate about what I'm writing in order for it to turn out how I hoped!