Exhibit B: Is that you, Gene Kelly?

I'm singing in the rain,
Just singing in the rain...

Where is that coming from??  Eyes forced to the pavement by the driving drops under the cover of my umbrella, I could scarcely believe my ears.  Maybe I imagined it; nobody would be singing in this rain.  Third Avenue is a disaster in a bad rainstorm.  The puddles span several feet wide and are ankle deep at the corners, and if you have the misfortune of getting caught at a red pedestrian light…watch your boots and pants, folks; you’re bound to get splashed by a passing taxicab.  I had the soaked jeans to prove it.

What a glorious feelin’,

I’m happy again

I’m laughing at clouds,

So dark up above…

Now this time, I was sure I’d heard it.  With the ghost of Gene Kelly nowhere in sight, and knowing my propensity toward pointing out musical references, I was confident that my ears were not playing tricks on me.  After some umbrella shifting, I managed to remove my stare from the sidewalk, dizzy from staring at the polka dots on my boots but now able to look around.  My eyes were up just long enough to watch my umbrella flip upside down in a fresh gust of wind, and after a slew of cursing and wrenching at the flimsy metal spokes, I managed to get it back down, showering my hair with cold raindrops.  And that’s when I saw it.

A flash of bright yellow against the grey concrete and the sea of black rain boots.  It was a small flash, but I knew what I’d seen.  One hand firmly holding the top of my umbrella down, I bravely gazed downward again to look for its origin.

“Sing it again, daddy!”  The yellow galoshes belonged to a pint sized New Yorker, who was now tugging at his father’s trench coat, giggling all the while.

I’m signing in the rain,

Just singing in the rain…

And there he was, the source of the background music: Tall, bespectacled, hoodless, umbrella-less, and smiling as people zoomed and dodged around him and his son. 

“See, we don’t need an umbrella!  Just keep singing!”  The little boy jumped into a nearby puddle, splashed both of them, and gave the song a try.

“No ‘brella!  Just sing!”  They laughed and laughed, and I laughed with them, sad that I was now only a few feet away from the subway station, and would have to part from their musical interlude.  I had to wonder- was mom back at the apartment, shaking her head at the forgotten umbrella in the hallway?  Was he just trying to keep the kid from complaining about the weather?  Or, was it intentional…had this New York dad, rather than hopping in a cab to stay dry on the way home, seen an opportunity to spend a little extra time with his son, and maybe even teach him a song along the way?  And to teach him that even if it’s true, than when it rains it pours (and trust me, it was pouring), sometimes we have to just accept it, and try to enjoy getting soaked?

As I reached the stairs and they moved on, before I even had the chance to shuffle down to the platform, my umbrella once again fell victim to the wind and flipped up to show its useless underside.  But this time, rather than wrestle it back to neutral and bemoan the drops down my neck, I decided to let it go and try their method.  ‘Brella in the trash can, and rain on my face, I quietly sang down the stairs.

Let the stormy clouds chase

Everyone from the place

Come on with the rain,

I’ve a smile on my face

Just singing in the rain…