The Greater Gift

Years ago when were in gradeschool, my youngest sister had a friend whose family were Christian fundamentalists. I didn't realize that at the time. I just knew they were very, very different from our family.

The mother and only daughter had long hair. They did not wear pants. The mother was always pregnant and had a worn, dour look about her. All of them wore bedraggled handmedowns and the babies always wore cloth diapers that were gray and drooping from countless washings.

I would babysit every now and then when their mother had to grocery shop or run other errands. Their home, like ours, was almost a century old, but unlike ours, it was dark and dreary and scared me a little bit. It smelled funny too. Their father rode a bicycle to work. I don't remember if they even had a car.

They were homeschooled, which was not the widely accepted practice that it is today. It was definitely viewed with suspicion and made the children a target of teasing in the neighborhood. I don't think they had many friends aside from my sister.

They had to do chores. Not just a few chores either...they were regular workhorses. And they never, ever, ever sassed their parents. It was WEIRD. I got the distinct feeling that they were spanked a lot more than we ever were. Harder too.

But the thing that unquestionably inspired the most sympathy on our part, was the fact that there was no television allowed in their home. No Saturday morning cartoons, no after school specials about that kid who wet the bed. No Six Million Dollar Man. No Bewitched.

It was a bona fide travesty as far as we were concerned.

On occasion, their mother would allow the girl and the oldest boy to come over to our house to play. But they did not play at our house. My sister would beg them to play with her; play tag, or hide n' seek, or Twister...anything. But both of them would promptly plant themselves in front of our television, where they were stricken deaf and dumb to her pleas by the flickering images on the screen. They sat there, slack jawed and glassy eyed until it was time for them to go home.

It was sort of creepy.

I hadn't thought of those people in years, but yesterday, while browsing for children's crafts in Michael's, I was reminded of them with startling clarity.

A woman and a little boy caught my eye; the woman because her pinched, somber mein and dowdy appearance were oddly familiar; the little boy because his face was filled with wonder as he studied a display of fantasy action figures.

I smiled, because Diminutive One had shown similar interest in the display on a previous visit. He had $10 that my mother had given him on her visit here over a month ago. He had been saving it for just the right thing. After a lot of deliberating, he decided upon two model airplanes instead.

This little boy was much younger than Diminutive One; perhaps four, but certainly no older than five. And yet, the two were equally enchanted by the majestic creatures and the noble heroes. I smiled at the fact that wizards and dragons and knights can enthrall most any male, from those who have scarcely entered boyhood, to those who have left it far behind.

My reverie was broken by the woman's scolding. Her voice was heavy with contempt.

"Oh no. We don't like those ugly, evil things Matthew! They're not for little boys like you to play with. It would make God very sad."

I know that I gasped audibly. I know I did. I felt the outrage and indignation burst from me in a huge, scathing exhalation. But if she heard me, she gave no indication.

I wanted to scream at her.

"How dare you do that to a little boy! Don't you know they only have magic for a little while?? It leaves them so quickly, their ability to believe in the unbelievable. How can you take that from him? How can you manipulate him with God's approval? You know what would make God sad?? What you just did. That would make God sad. He had a little boy too, you know."

But I didn't, of course. It's none of my business what she teaches her kids. But goddamn it made me sad. Inexpressibly, inexplicably...sad.

I watched his head flop forward onto his chest and his shoulders sag. Ever so slowly he turned away and then reluctantly followed his mother, who was striding briskly away. He cast a single longing glance over his shoulder.

It tore my heart in two that look. It was hunger. Stark, naked hunger for fanciful things.

I saw that woman and that little boy in two other stores that day. And every time I hastened in the opposite direction, fearing I might witness another such scene. I couldn't face that child's disappointment, shame, and longing again.

And he was ashamed. He was ashamed of his hunger, ashamed of it because he was afraid it made God sad.

Maybe I'm missing something here. It happens, since I'm not a Christian and I don't attend church. I'm not privvy to the wisdom that is imparted there.

I'd like very much if someone would explain to me how depriving a child of magic and whimsy will make them a better Christian or a better person.

I'd like very much if someone could explain to me why God and magic can't coexist peacefully in a child's heart.

Me...I happen to think that there's precious little magic in this world, and precious little time to believe in it. And you know what? I nurtured that belief in my children. I fed it with tall tales and fantastic yarns and fairy stories. I fed it by placing quarters under pillows and presents under a tree and brightly colored eggs in a basket. I have watched it grow and thrive and become it's own thing in each of them...and it has gratified me.

If I have done my children an injustice, then I am not interested in doing the right thing.

My children do not hunger and they are not ashamed. And yet...there are those who would say that they are being deprived because I have not given them faith.

I have to wonder which is the greater gift.

(I know, I'm a little heavy on the religious meanderings lately, but that always happens this time of year. It goes hand in hand with spending time with my in-laws. Remind me to write about our conversation about "The Golden Compass" and how I almost inadvertantly set myself up for some good old fashioned soul saving by admitting that I wish I had the certainty of faith.)