When I was a child, I was unusually sceptical. Most of the stories my family told me seemed illogical and sometimes left me questioning their sanity. My parents were alright; they rarely travelled much further than the usual Santa/Tooth Mouse/Easter Bunny fibs most children are told. Even then I was sceptical, with Santa especially. It just didn’t make any logical sense to me how a man that big could fit down a chimney that small. Still, whatever I tried, Mum and Dad had an airtight explanation for any question I threw their way.
My uncles, however, now they were a different story. I remember on a long and mundane drive one night, my uncle Calvin kept my brother and me occupied by telling us about the cats eyes that divided the road. He’d explained, in generous detail might I add, that each cats eye was a small house that belonged to a little man. And the little mans job was to guide the cars by switching on his house light as they passed, then switch it off until the next car came. That was the longest, most pointless evening of my life searching for those little men…
Anyways, I think most of my silly childhood beliefs came from my own eccentric imagination. For instance, I believed that if I dressed my brother up as a girl enough times, he would eventually become a girl and I would finally have a sister. After a while I realised that I didn’t actually like Barbie, or dress up, or tea party, or whatever else little girls were supposed to play. It got to the point to where my brother began asking me to play Barbie, or dress up, or tea party, when all I wanted to do was play with the matchbox cars.
My imagination was my favourite toy. I had this crazy idea that if I imagined something long and vivid enough it would eventually come true. My imagination was my world, and mine only. I remember spending hours running around my back yard, pretending to be chased by the evil Gualtier Osmosis. At eight I developed my very own story I had dubbed ‘Violet’. She is, to this day, my favourite superhero ever and I would spend a lot of my free time improving my storylines and scenes in my mind. Daniel would often be Osmosis or Davien, but I was always Violet. I could ramble on for hours in my imagination as a child, but this text is entitled, ‘I believed in a Fairy Tree’, not ‘I imagined a Fairy Tree’.
I remember believing beauty solved everything, although that belief has changed. I remember believing that the world was set up to cater for my little family, even if they didn’t know it. I remember believing that modesty, generosity and kindness were key to being happy. I believed my toys came alive at night, when I was asleep. I believed I wasn’t as plain as I appeared to the world. I believed I could do better. I believed in Fairies, and would chant along to the children in Peter Pan each time my mother read us the story. I believed in a Fairy Tree, that existed at the end of our garden. It was a simple bush, not even a tree, that had the most exquisite little pink flowers dotting the gaps between the leaves. I believed each flower was a fairy’s home, and that by caring for the bush I was helping the fairies that lived there. Needless to say, this belief was not one that lasted as long as the rest.
I had many simple beliefs as a child, most of which developed into the beliefs I hold today. My childhood was a labyrinth of imagination and creativity; it was definitely unique and by all accounts, it was also the best time of my life.