Do You Believe In Fairies?
Yes, I do…and so does my daughter.
“Do you believe in fairies, mommy?” Her sweet 7-year-old face looked up at me intently. “My friends say there are no such things as fairies. Or elves. Or Santa Claus. Or the Easter Bunny.”
Wow, the full payload of disenchantment.
“I do believe in fairies, sweetie,” I say, “And if you look hard enough, you will see them.” Her eyes were huge and round, glistening with hope. “Fairies help take care of the world. That’s why they are so important.”
I took her little hand and walked her over to the couch to sit. She was eager to learn, hopeful her friends were wrong.
“Close your eyes and imagine a fairy. What does she or he look like…there are boy fairies you know?”
She shut her eyes tightly, busily conjuring. After a few seconds, she exclaimed, “I can see her! It’s a girl. I see her.”
“What does she look like?”, I ask. “What kind of outfit is she wearing?” My little girl shut her eyes even tighter. She reached out her hand in front of her, as if she was trying to touch the fairy in her mind’s eye.
I continued. “Many fairies prefer a brilliant red or green. Whatever fairy appears in your imagination is your fairy. Your own personal fairy sent to watch over you.”
A smile filled her small face. “I see her! I see her!”
“Good,” I encouraged.
“But how do I see her in the real world?” She opened her eyes and peered into mine. A small doubt appeared in those eyes. She was worried. Belief in fairies was tentative…one naysaying comment from one of her friends could dash it forever.
“Oh, that’s easy. You know how you can tell if you’ve seen a fairy?” She shook her head. “Well, if you think you’ve seen a fairy and quickly turn back to look and it’s a pretty colored hummingbird, then you’ve seen a fairy. Fairies often disguise themselves as hummingbirds.”
She smiled. “I’ve seen my fairy then,” she said decisively.
“Great. Now, give her a name. Go to your room and imagine your fairy. And listen for a tiny voice inside your head telling you her name. If you can, will you try to draw a picture of her for me?”
“Oh, yes, Mommy!” She popped off the couch and raced to her room. The door slammed behind her. Now usually I would have admonished her for slamming the door, but it was clear, this door slam was from enthusiasm, hope and burning creativity.
After a few minutes, I silently opened her door and peeked at her, on the bed, creating.
A few minutes later, she came into the kitchen where I was preparing her lunch. Proudly she handed me a drawing: a hummingbird with a red throat and emerald feathers. “Snapa”, she said. “That’s my fairy’s name. I see her all the time in the garden.”
“Wonderful.” I took the drawing in my hand and said, “Hello, Snapa. Thank you for taking care of my little girl.” I put the drawing on the refrigerator.
“But, mommy, I’m worried. Does Snapa have a place to live?”
“Let’s make her a home,” I said.
Out in the garden, we made a fairy cottage out of sticks and leaves. I found a bit of bark for a door. My little girl was delighted.
Back inside, we sat down to eat our lunchtime sandwiches.
“What about food?” She was suddenly worried. Her face screwed up, wrinkled brow, downturned mouth. I loved how fully engaged she was.
“Why, sweetie, fairies eat the same food as hummingbirds. Nectar from flowers. And the nectar in the hummingbird feeders, which is why I make sure it’s always fresh and full.”
“Can I help you make the food?”
“Of course, darling. We can make a batch on the weekend and it will last all week long.” She clapped her hands with delight.
Every day, my sweet little girl would sit out in the garden hoping to catch sight of Snapa. I watched one day as she took a little piece of paper, carefully folded it to fit in the cottage. Later, I took out the paper…a note to Snapa. She asked Snapa what her life was like and what her parents were like, and whether she had brothers and sisters.
In my tiniest handwriting, I would write a note back. She left many notes for Snapa, and I answered them…each and every one. Days passed. Weeks, months, and years passed. My little daughter was growing up now and one day, there were no more notes.
I waited but the notes had stopped. I would sit in the garden, and feel the tears wiggling down my cheeks. She said nothing to me about the notes. And I did not ask. But one day, my daughter came to me after school and said, “You don’t have to write notes from Snapa anymore. I know she’s not real in the real ‘real’ way. But she’s real to me. Inside here”. She placed her still child’s hand over her heart. “She’s my imaginary friend. Thank you, Mommy, for teaching me that there is magic in the world.”
Here’s a sampling of the notes between my daughter and her fairy, Snapa:
