Lessons from The Rainbow Fish: Childhood Memories

Daily writing prompt

Do you remember your favorite book from childhood?

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There’s nothing like an old book from childhood that stays with you, and carries you into adulthood.  For me, the most memorable book wasn’t just about a shimmering fish.  It was about the quiet ache of wanting to belong. 

As a kid, I was mostly glamoured by the shiny, beautiful scales the fish had. But the story really struck me too. I recently re-read the book to my nephew, and I realized that it held deeper meanings that I initially thought. The Rainbow Fish by Marcus Pfister is a story that quietly mirrors emotions. Something I didn’t realize back then.

It tells the story of a fish who is admired for his beauty, his “perfection.”  He’s a bit pretentious, but deep down, he’s burdened by loneliness. At first, he doesn’t understand why he feels so isolated.  But as the story unfolds, he learns that forming connections is more than just being the most dazzling in a crowd.  

It’s about being real, generous, and willing to share parts of yourself.  Even the parts you’ve been told are your most valuable. 

As a child, I didn’t know that I was neurodivergent.  I knew something about me was different, but I never really focused on it too intently. But this story stuck with me, and now I understand why it was my favorite book growing up. I deeply resonate with The Rainbow fish—set apart, but not truly seen.

I masked, mimicked, and shone in the ways I thought I was supposed to.  I was quiet when I wanted to speak.  Agreeable even when I wanted to say now.  Smiled when my heart and mind were tired.  Just like the Rainbow Fish’s scales, I wore a version of myself that sparkled just enough to blend in.  Even though inside I felt distant and misunderstood. 

I realize that this book planted a seed.  The idea that maybe connection isn’t earned by being perfect, but by being genuine.  That giving parts of yourself doesn’t mean that you’re losing who you are.  It means inviting others in. 

As I’ve grown older, and understand myself better after receiving my diagnosis’s, I’ve embraced my differences.  I’ve come to believe that there’s power in sharing our authentic selves. Our “scales” may not always shimmer.  Sometimes they look like honesty, tears, or saying “I’m not okay.” But in those moments, we offer others something real, and that’s where true friendship begins. 

So yes, The Rainbow Fish is still the most memorable book from my childhood.  Not just for it’s beauty, but for the quiet way it taught me what I wouldn’t understand until much later in life.  That I’m worthy of connection.  Not because I’m shiny, but because I’m me.