Cailey once told me that she uses her rainbow powers for good.

My six-year-old niece Cailey graduated from kindergarten the same day I graduated from college. Instead of sticking around with the other moppets to get punch and cookies, my sister made Cailey come to my ceremonies—yup, there were two.

Cailey was greatly upset about not getting her “moment,” so we held a modest ceremony for her grand achievement in my backyard.

Before the private ceremony was to commence, Cailey waited in the back porch for me to give her a special graduation present: a long, almost see-through silk rainbow cape.

You see, Cailey, according to herself, has very special powers. Whenever she wants, she tightly closes her optimistic brown eyes and suddenly she can see everything in rainbow colors. Granted, these powers are not the most exciting in the lineage of super heroes, but they are hers. And she is mine. So I accept the rainbow powers.

“Here is your graduation surprise,” I told her as I tied the silk cape over her petite shoulders.
She held the cape at arms length—no more than the width of a door frame.

The silk fabric, dyed to mirror the gradient change from red to violet, fell around her and covered her tiny frame.

“Uncle T, ‘With great power comes great responsibility,’” she said. (Cailey also likes Spiderman.)

I'd forgotten that story. But now I remember. And I remember trying to close my eyes and see everything in rainbow. Not like giant purple unicorns, arbitrarily orange-colored skies, golden-paisley-book-bound streetlights and shit, but things as they are from her eyes—big and towering, not intimidating, but hopeful.

I couldn't really, because I almost vomitted from all the schmaltz. I mean a
clutching-porcelain-curves type of hurling. Yes, I'm pretty cynical.

But today I closed my eyes and I saw the rainbows, because, really, deep down I'm a marshmallow. The gooey kind that has been microwaved with butter and Rice Krispies in a white IKEA bowl.

Oh, it doesn't matter. Now I can see them, the rainbows. And maybe this time I'll use my powers for good. Maybe this time I'll win.

I was just thinking about how weird it is that we eat birds.

To begin, I must tell you that I am not an optimist. Well, I used to be. But then:

I almost died on three separate occasions. I lost the possible true love of my life. (Don't worry. The realization wasn't as dramatic as it sounds.) I began waiting for the right time to tell my parents a secret—a silly little secret that will cause them to cut all ties with me like an inflamed sphincter.

And:

I still work at a waiter-ing job I got during college because I can't seem to get hired anywhere else as, my picked profession, a writer.

So join me on my crap-tastic journey into adulthood. That time when I should be thinking about budgets and the future and healthy relationship choices, but all I can think about is, like Tracy Jordan does, "how weird it is that we eat birds."