Believing in Fairies

I should be studying for a midterm right now. For some reason I can't focus, perhaps it has to do with the weather. Perhaps not. Whatever the cause, Swift, Austen and Byron are not holding my attention this evening. So here I am trying to write a blog post instead, listening to the soundtrack for the 2003 production of Peter Pan.

One of my coworkers and I are in love with Peter Pan. We both love the story even though we are both halfway through college. In someways, he even reminds me of Peter. He has the same clever, sneaky smile that could charm the fairies while he steals their purses. Not that Puck (as I shall here call him) would ever steal. He is far too good natured. We both would defend J.M. Barrie against the American authors his best friend (and our fellow worker) preferred.

What is it about Peter Pan that fascinates us both? The idea of retaining our childhood? Perhaps, no one ever fully abandons his or her childhood willingly. There is that small part of us that wants to continue to believe in fairies even when we know they are not real. Something in us withers when the Hooks in our lives whisper "there's no such thing as fairies." There is no magic. There is no fun.

My love of Neverland started when I was little, and I adored Peter as most young girls do. However, it was when I started Jr. High that I truly fell in love with the story. That was when it finally sunk in that I was growing up, and  oh how I wished Peter would visit my window before that happened! While my little sister slept beside me, I would stare out our window at the stars and wonder which one was "second to the right." I retreated, and cried myself to sleep as I slowly, horribly continued to grow older.

At some point in high school, my grandmother took my little sister and me to see Peter Pan on the stage. I don't think she ever knew how much that meant to me. I was re-connected with the best part of my childhood: the steadfast never doubting belief. Belief in fairies, magic and light. Pure unfiltered sunlight and joy. I hate heights, but I wanted with all my heart to fly with Peter that day. To me, flying has a different definition all together.

I am much older now than I was then. I no longer live at the small house at Possum Box Lane. I had to say goodbye to the fairies that rustled the trees in the day and danced in the garden at night. I had to wave farewell to the mermaids in the creeks and the unicorns in the hidden glade I named Mossflower (after Brain Jacques' book by the same name). But only because we moved to a new house. I stubbornly clung on as while the rest of my classmates prepared for college and uttered their own version of the hated line "there's no such thing as fairies." I didn't want to grow up, and fought back by not applying for scholarships and my mother had to drag me by my hair to get me to apply for colleges. It wasn't until the summer before I left that I finally stopped fighting. Peter wasn't coming. His forgetfulness had gotten in the way yet again. I would have to find him.

I think the hardest thing for a six year-old child to understand is that Peter Pan is a story about growing up. The whole reason Wendy, John, and Micheal Darling left was to avoid growing up. It always confused me why they went back. Yes, they loved their mother and missed her. That reasoning I could very well understand. But it was the argument between Peter and Wendy about feelings that always got me. Understand that I was very romantic as a child and took Wendy's side; even then I knew that that disagreement between Peter and Wendy was the real reason why she left Neverland and that while the part about missing mothers was true, it also served as Barrie's way of making the departure easier to swallow for the children. There was something about growing up that Peter was (and probably still is) terrified of. And why shouldn't he be? As small children, we are given the impression that the adults around us wish us to stay small and pure. Somewhere along that time frame our small hearts begin to think that growing up is bad, why else would our parents wish us to avoid it? However, there comes a time when we, like Wendy discover that growing up is not a bad thing, if you handle it right.

No one likes to be told to stop doing something they enjoy. "Don't play in the mud." "Don't stay up late reading" "No, you can't go play with your toys, go do your homework." "There's no such thing as fairies." Children get it into their heads that growing up is losing all the fun things in life, all the things they enjoy. Wendy was going to have her own room, away from her darling brothers (sorry, I couldn't help myself). That is not what growing up is. Growing  up is learning to take responsibility for your actions. Something that the Lost Boys, Peter and Wendy do throughout their adventures. Peter puts Wendy and the Lost Boys' safety before himself when he ties Wendy to a kite, or goes in to save them all from the pirates.He never admits that it was his actions or lack of actions that caused their scrapes, but he does try his best to fix the problems that arise. In that respect, Peter is a grown up (although he would be ashamed to admit it and would argue with me, the cocky fellow)  Growing up is also learning to take the fun things and turning them into part of who you are. Wendy went to Neverland to play being a mother. She loved taking care of her rowdy brothers and the Lost Boys. Guess what she became when she grew up? How do you know that the child who plays in the mud will come to nothing? Perhaps he has the making of a great gardener.

Wendy's father tells her at the beginning of the story to put away childish thoughts. That it is time for her to think like an adult. This is the lie that all children are told, even inadvertently. We are told to forget the Easter bunny, Santa and so on. "There's no such thing as fairies." We are told to toss away that unquestioning belief in what we cannot see. That is part of growing up, we are told. It is a hard pill for any child to swallow, a bitter one. One that many take, but we don't have to. Peter never took his medicine. Hook poisoned it. And he has poisoned ours as well. We were called to have the faith of children, to keep that unquestioning trust and belief. We are to take responsibility for our actions, but to keep that child's sight, the laughter and the ability to fly. We are to keep that hope and love. Living without faith, or hope is dismal and is a surefire way to piracy towards the soul.  Wendy willingly went back to her window in London, as we must all go to our own windows. But she kept hope, and Peter came back for her; and later for Jane. Peter never truly leaves Wendy, just as he never leaves us. Those who claim to be adults, and say "there's no such thing as fairies" have broken themselves off from themselves, creating another Lost boy (or girl) for Peter to lead while the "adult" part becomes as heartless as a pirate. Our childhood never leaves. Sometimes he hides from us, but in the end, we will find him and keep him close.

Puck and I both are still determined to never grow up as the world sees it. We still believe in fairies. I wear medieval dresses just because I like them. So what if people think I'm crazy? They would be right. I once danced barefoot with Abba on a cliff during thunderstorm at midnight till my feet bled. And enjoyed every second of it. I still go out and dance with him on that cliff. Granted with shoes now, bleeding feet are not fun and the Wendy in me was horrified and berated me for the full week my feet were healing. The Peter in me still thinks it was well worth it though. Puck tries to act as like an adult as much as I do, but he still likes to watch ice chunks shatter on the sidewalk with the same fascination my sister and I had as five year-olds. And last semester he did try to shove a snow ball down one of our co-workers shirts. In someways we will never grow up. We will always see fairies and believe in magic. Not the witches and wizard magic, true magic. Real magic, the magic of all fairy stories, the magics of the Bible are called miracles. What is magic but a miracle that we don't understand or recognize?

My mother once wrote the following line on her blog, and it sealed my view on this matter. "Faith and Faerie, I've been told are incompatible. Once cannot believe in both miracle and magic. One should not open windows in the wind. Phooey."  I believe that they are one and the same. Yes, witches and dark magic is real, and we need to stay away from it. But I firmly believe that God has his own magic. With his fairy dust, I can and will fly.

Tonight, as I came back from dinner, I walked in the dark with orange street lights and falling snow. The clock outside the caff glowed, and for a second, I thought it was Big Ben. The snow became fairies and I could feel Peter laughing beside me, tugging me along. As I listened to the below song, I felt that I was flying. In some ways I will never grow up. I will never abandon my belief in the unknown. "I do believe in fairies." I sleep with my window open in the wind. You never know when Peter may drop in.

 I Do Believe in Fairies