A Nine-Year-Old's Brush with Magic
佚名 / Anonymous
Every June， on the night before summer officially arrives， we renew an annual tradition at our house. Our children are given bowls and asked to collect pieces of nature that remind them of the coming season. They leave those bowls on the front of porch and we go for a walk. When we return we find fairies have transformed the bowls into ice-cream sundaes.
I’m not certain how this tradition evolved， I think I was rambling on about fairies years ago， and it all just sort of happened. But ever since， it has been one of our favorite rituals.
“When are the fairies coming？” six-year-old Anna had been asking all last June， giddy with expectation. Meanwhile， Jim， nine， was getting wise to fairies and Santa and such silly things. So he was pretty cocky as the evening approached， winking and giggling. He said he would understand if， during our walk， Mom or Dad would forget something and return home.
Wink. Wink.
Or， he proclaimed， during the walk a parent might have to run an errand in the car.
Hee， hee.
Jim had everything figured out. Or so he thought. The evening arrived， gorgeous and balmy. The children collected leaves and blades of grass， pebbles and berries， twigs and dead insects.
We set their bowls on the front porch and took off on our walk. But midway round the block， I moaned that I had forgotten my keys and needed to go back. Jim smiled a knowing grin.
“Oh wait，” I added. “I find them！ I don’t have to go back.” As we continued on our way， Jim was beginning to get a bit confused.
Near our house， I warned that the fairies might not have arrived yet—and that we might need to go around a few more blocks. Jim seemed relieved. Yes， he said， they probably hadn’t come.
Yet when we reached the porch， the bowls were in the same place we had left them—filled to their brims with ice-cream sundaes.