The Tooth Fairy

I was recently asked, "If a movie were made of your life, do you think people would watch it?"

At the risk of sounding cocky, absolutely.

I've had a pretty good amount of adventures in my time.  The fact that I am still pretty young is encouraging to me.  There are many adventures to look forward to.  One of the main reasons I started this blog was to have a place to regale an imaginary audience with my treasure trove of stories.  I'm happy to know that my audience isn't as imaginary these days.

I hope I will continue to amuse you.  And only on rare occasions will I attempt to make you cry.  Promise.

Today's recollection stems from my childhood.

I wouldn't go as far as to say I was a gullible kid.  Not really gullible.  But eager to believe in the fantastic.  Unicorns?  Obviously real.  Narnia?  I tried my closet on a daily basis.  Peter Pan?  I waited by my window every night.  Don't get me started on Santa.  The big guy and I have a rich history.

But this story is how I debunked the Tooth Fairy.

The tooth fairy to me was a serious pursuit.  It was one of the few mythical creatures that left evidence.  After losing my first tooth, and finding a couple quarters under my pillow, two things went through my head:

1. Tooth Fairy is a cheapskate.
2. I'm going to catch her next time and get at least a dollar.

Now a few lost teeth came and went, and I missed the little sneak every time.  Never more than 50 cents.  Sometimes she would throw in a piece of candy.  It infuriated me.  I remember telling my dad that I was getting gypped, and he told me the Tooth Fairy's budget was probably getting cut.

Nice cover, Dad.

The day came that I lost my last baby tooth.  The last one.  It was now or never.

I went to bed that night, tooth under pillow, and stayed on watch as long as my eyes would allow.  As the hours wore on, they became very heavy...

I jolted awake very early.  The sun was not quite up yet.  I panicked, and looked for quarters, but found my tooth still under my pillow.  I was relieved.  I hadn't missed her yet!  I was concerned though, because I knew that once the sun came up, she would have to wait until the next night.

I ran to my parent's room, because my mother was the authority on all things mythical (I'm so glad to this day she encouraged my rampant imagination).  I whispered hurriedly that the Tooth Fairy had not arrived yet, and sunrise was not far off.  My mother exclaimed that the Tooth Fairy must have had a very packed route that night.  She was sure that I would not be missed though, and told me to get back in bed and go to sleep, just to make sure.

So I did.  I dove back into the blankets, and did my best fake snore.  Ten minutes passed.  Fifteen.  I cracked my eye open and spotted the beginning of the sunrise outside.  I bolted to my mother's bedside again and declared rather bossily that the Tooth Fairy was running out of time.  My dear mother groggily defended the winged creature, and told me to try one more time to go back to sleep.

I cocooned myself in bed once again, and slowed my breathing.  Cracking my eyes open enough to catch any movement.

After about ten minutes, I heard my bedroom door open.  I was a little confused, because I had always imagined the Tooth Fairy using the window.  Her footsteps also sounded kind of heavy.  How big is this lady exactly?  Isn't the Tooth Fairy little, like Tinkerbell?  I couldn't resist any longer.

My eyes flew open and so did my mouth.

My mother stood before me with a guilty look on her face, two quarters and a piece of butterscotch candy in hand.  She was reaching for my pillow.

"Mooooommmm...?" I drew out, starting to put two and two together.

Needless to say, the illusion was officially shattered.

In the days that followed, my sweet mother would insist that she was called in by the Tooth Fairy to pick up my stop.  But it was too late.  I knew the truth.

The Tooth Fairy and my mother were the same person.

And my mom was not a fairy.

The Tooth Fairy was a lie.

My young heart was not too broken.  After all, I still had a chance to catch Santa on Christmas Eve.  He still hadn't brought me that pony I kept asking for.

Blogtober Day 7: My Most Embarrassing Moment

We all have one.  The only reason I feel comfortable enough to share mine, is because it took place when I was quite young.  I can no longer be teased about it... right?

I still turn bright red as I remember it.  In fact, my face might stay this color all day.

It was in 5th grade.  I was kind of a smarty pants, and so I had made it into the spelling bee!  I spent weeks going over the list of words, practicing constantly.  I was set on winning.  I was kind of a competitive child.

So on the big day I dressed up.  I still remember.  I wore a long black skirt, and a blue button up shirt with my favorite black shoes.  I had this irrational fear of my voice cracking when I went up to the microphone, so I drank a ton of water.

Ah, it was my downfall.

About 20 minutes into the spelling bee, I realized I had to pee pretty bad.  In my 10-year-old mind, I deduced that if I asked to leave for the bathroom, I would be disqualified!  What if it was my turn and I wasn't there?  I'd get kicked out for sure.  Thus, I determined to hold it until the spelling bee was over.

Finally, it was down to me, and one other boy.  A fourth grader.  Psh, I had this thing in the bag!  The only downside was, my bladder was really struggling to contain all the water I drank that morning.  Fourth grader and I were going back and forth, neither one of us missing a single word.  "How long are we going to do this?" I kept thinking.  I started to pray he would mess up so I could just pee for crying out loud!

Then, I could not hold it any longer.  Yep.  I totally peed myself in front of the whole school, more or less. 

The thing was, my skirt was kind of wide, so it didn't get wet at all.  This puddle just kind of formed by my feet.  I was so mortified, I ran off the stage and into the nearest bathroom, where I hid and cried until my mother came and found me.  She then drove all the way home, got me clean underwear, drove back, and I changed.  I assumed, while waiting in the bathroom for what must have been half an hour, that I had lost the spelling bee by default.  Surely when I came out of the bathroom, everyone would be gone, and I could slip into my classroom unnoticed.

Not even.

They had WAITED.  So I walked back out to a room of people wondering why the little girl had run out suddenly.  My uhm, puddle was still there, so no one had put two and two together.

I was so torn up over my embarrassment, I misspelled the first word they gave me, and lost to the fourth grader.  The word?  Dandelion.

My mom took me to lunch, then home.  I guess she thought I had suffered enough.

He's Harry Freakin' Potter

I'd like to take a moment and dive headfirst into what is probably my most ardent obsession:

Harry Potter.

I could probably devote a separate blog to this phenomenon by itself, but for now, this will have to do.

Harry Potter was my childhood.  The characters were so real to me, Hogwarts was never a place of fantasy in my mind, and the existence of magic was never something I questioned.  As an adult, I still feel very much the same.  Of course, I now know that hanging out at King's Cross station will not guarantee a run-in with an actual wizard-in-training.  I understand that as many times as I look it up on Google Maps, the location of Hogwarts will not be revealed to me.  However, I am convinced that magic is real, although perhaps not in the manner it is written about in books.

I believe that magic is an untouchable quality within each of us that enables us to do incredible things.  Maybe things that we were told couldn't be done.  Things we tell ourselves we will never do.  Even things that never occurred to anyone, but take place all the same.  Impossible things happen all the time.

As my son grows older, it is so important to me that he grows up with a rampant imagination, and a healthy belief in things most grown-ups will tell him are only make-believe.

Please don't mistake my views as childish or naive.  I have experienced reality, and live a part of this world as much as anyone else.  I also believe in rational decisions, and keeping a clean house.  I believe in working a job I don't like to help support my family, and I believe in education very much.  I just don't understand why or when it was decided that believing in fantastic things is a useless endeavor.

But back to my dear Harry.

Now as splendid as the movies are, I am first and foremost a fan of the books (which are better than the movies, as books do tend to be) being as they were my first introduction to the wizarding world.  So please keep in mind that if you read parts of this post that sound unfamiliar, run to the nearest bookstore near you and educate yourself.

Joanne Rowling (fondly known as J.K. Rowling) set out to write a series of "children's" books.  At least, that is what her publishers assumed after the first installment.  However, these books proceeded down a much darker, more adult path.  They needed to.  Even in tales of magic and enchantment, there must be a rationality within.  Things have to make sense. 

And we are dealing with issues not all grown-ups I know can wrap their head around.  Abuse, racism, sexism, prejudices of all kinds, war, death, sacrifice, the fickleness of fame, mental health, inner demons, competition, evil, remorse, temptation, selfless love...

There is a depth in the Harry Potter books that I believe will never be seen again.

Because after a childhood of abuse and neglect, after experiencing so much death and turmoil, did we really expect Harry to persist with a smile on his face?  He had every right be get angry every now and then.  And Ron? What normal teenage boy would not have jealousy issues with a famous friend?  I probably would have left too if I had been camping for months without progress.  Hermione?  Is it so surprising she struggles with self esteem, that she is always looking to prove herself?  It takes some time for her to grow into the self assured, no-nonsense heroine we all love in the end.

Even the most seemingly irrelevant characters contribute so much to the story.  Madame Pomfrey, for example.  Can we all take a moment to appreciate how awesome she is?  The castle can come under attack, students can lose bones, become petrified, drink a botched potion, and she keeps a level head and takes care of it.  No complaints, so questions asked.  Pomfrey is a boss. 

I can revisit these books over and over again and take away something new.  Every time.

Also, Voldemort's progression as a villain is this beautiful tragedy.  He was basically raised in similar conditions to Harry, and yet, his humanity was more of a hindrance than a help.  Evil is ultimately a choice we make for ourselves.  To use our situations to drive us to both extremes.

We see examples of how acutely choices affect our character, literally, everywhere in these books.  Another example is the Malfoy family and the Weasley family.  Both pureblood, but separated by class.  The Malfoys being very wealthy, and of course, the Weasleys being quite poor.  And yet... who do we love more?  Arthur and Molly chose to keep love over status within their home.  Something we can learn from.  What's really important?  Happiness or money?

I could go on and on.  Guaranteed, there will be more posts about the miracle that is Harry Potter.  For today, let's all take a moment to appreciate the boy who will always live.

"No story lives unless someone wants to listen. The stories we love best do live in us forever, so whether you come back by page or by the big screen, Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home"
J.K. Rowling