We lament the passing of innocence.
Innocence as we once knew it, died in the Burden house yesterday. And it was completely my doing.
Rylie, our youngest, was our last link to magical beings. The Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus and to a lesser extent the Easter Bunny, though never formally invited, made their existence known in our house. The Elf on the Shelf, who was initially rather unwelcome, came to us a few years ago after Rylie put her as the one and only item on the Christmas wish list.
These characters provided our home with years of imagination (in the form of planning and execution), anticipation and spine-tingling joy. More times than not, these added guests were well worth their trouble.
Until two months ago when Rylie, now a fifth grader had questions about the tooth fairy
Next came a talk, where I went into "truth-telling" with much caution and tenderness. I kept the conversation purposefully guided in hopes to mercy-kill all magical beings in a single blow.
Bad news is best administered , I would assume, like vaccinations. Give what you have to give as humanely and quickly as possible.
I was so clear and intentional (in my mind) that Santa, the Easter Bunny and the Elf on the Shelf would have no doubt that they'd been evicted. I also felt confident that Rylie, even if she was a little sad, would move forward in her more grown-up thinking.
I was wrong.
It took only weeks, after the Tooth Fairy died, for Rylie's attention to be turned to Santa. She told me she couldn't wait for him and "Jingle Belle" to come back; instantly making me realize that she wasn't connecting the dots.
I walked into her room to find a carefully constructed penthouse (complete with decorative pillows, pets and pet bowls) for "Jingle Belle" when she comes back to visit after Thanksgiving.
That's when I decided I had to tell her the truth.
Truths are better lovingly told by parents than by random children, whose words can be less guided by compassion and good intentions.
I took the coward's way out and wrote her a letter, leaving it on her desk. Before sending her to read it, I told her that yesterday was one of those important days (where growing up is concerned). I instructed her to read the note and then get ready to go on a trip with me.
With her newfound knowledge that magic can come through you rather than simply for you, we headed to the mall as new partners in "magic-making".
We chose someone special to make magic for. We shopped, filling the basket. We made a sneaky stop at our friends house and left a gift at her door.
It wasn't the most fun day ever, but we survived; her being reminded that she was loved. She was also reminded that a sad heart can be lightened by showing love to another.
Our kids won't always be little, so we must focus on the job of making sure they're not small. We teach them to join in the larger work of making magic and sharing joy.
Yesterday was the first day that none of my kids believed in magical beings. I wiped my own misty eyes and then set them on clearer and more important things like
Teaching my kids to "value others above themselves," (Philippians 2:3)
Showing them that it's not only important to be loved, but to show love
That it's not only good to have friends but to be a true friend
That it's not so important that we believe in magic as it is for us to mature to a point of being the magic.
Note to reader: Kids are different. Santa wasn't such a big figure in our other two kids' lives. Our other daughter found out about Santa in second grade from a kid at church and our son found out through snooping around for Christmas gifts. I read him a book we had that tells about the real St. Nick.
Our youngest is our most sensitive and mystical. She tells me now that she'd rather have heard the truth from her friends because she'd rather be hurt by them than me. Goodness. (You win some, you lose some). She did tell me she was glad I wrote her a letter so she could have time to herself, and that she enjoyed the "magic-making" shopping trip. Her sister told me the whole exchange was the corniest thing she'd ever heard. She's always been our skeptic.
Probably more important than how they find out is what happens after they find out. Then again, this may all soon be a distant memory and not something to tell Dr. Phil about. (Love all the stages.)
Here's a copy of the letter I gave her (and am sharing with her permission)
Everybody loves magic.
Snow is magic.
Whipped cream in a can is magic.
Babies are magic too. You were. You could blink and yawn, sneeze and hiccup without thinking about it, and without being taught when you were born.
These things probably weren't on your list of "all things magical".
Books are magical. You get that right?
When kids usually think of magic they think of things like the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, Santa and the Elf on the Shelf.
Some of the best memories of childhood come from the magic found in those guys.
Until you grow into a new age of magic.
Here's how it works.
When you're young all the magic happens to you and for you. Kind of like when you were a baby, you were spoon-fed mashed bananas and ice cream. It's all good until you get old enough to hold the spoon (or grab that delicious ice cream cone) yourself. Your parents, in good time, hand over the things you're ready for.
Not everything you're handed will make you instantly happy; you may even be sad and wish that you could turn back the clock to when you were younger again.
Today may mark one of those times.
Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, Elf on the Shelf (and other mysterious friends) are not real beings. They're stories. They're characters used in making magic.
True magic is made by eager and kind moms and dads and kids who have grown old enough.
Today is the day when you're handed the keys to magic. This is your commission to be a “Magic Maker”. It's a responsibility that will bring joy to those whom you will make magic for. But even better, you'll come to learn that making magic will bring you happiness that will surprise you.
Get started.
Who needs a little magic?
Maybe your sister or brother could use a surprise breakfast in bed. Knock on their door, leave the breakfast and run. How about leaving a gift on your neighbor's porch or writing a note (that you don't sign) and sending it to someone who needs encouragement? Can you get a candy bar to your favorite teacher (or better yet the teacher or custodian nobody does anything for) without them knowing it's from you?
You can help Jingles pull shenanigans while everybody else is asleep.
Magic doesn't die if you don't let it. Once magic was for you. Now it lives in you. Share it.
You were meant to make magic!