I envy my little boy, at three years old he is as sharp as a knife and as witty as a teenager with a box set of Monty Python. He makes me laugh. I need to laugh especially at the moment, so soon after discovering my wife’s affair which of course puts the term “my little boy” into doubt
He has a wooden advent calendar in the shape of a train with lots of little numbered draws on the side, each night when he goes to bed I explain that while he is sleeping one of father Christmas’s elves will pop in through the cat flap and magically make a chocolate or tiny gift appear in tomorrow’s little draw, but not before checking that he is asleep and not before checking that he has been good so he can report to HQ in Lapland that all is well. Each and every night this month (apart from when I was away with work of course) he goes to bed and without any doubt in his little head falls asleep knowing that the world is a glorious place, full of magic, elves, jolly fat men who only work once a year just to make children happy and a train that can make chocolate appear out of nowhere.
I hope that the magic stays with him for as long as possible and I envy the ability of children to accept what is in front of them because it is there, I envy their ability to not judge, I envy the ability to dismiss right and wrong and simply move forward.
As an adult the only time we experience the feeling of magic is either when we become parents or when we find the one we want to spend the rest of our lives with, there is no other way to describe the way we feel when love is involved. I remember once going to sleep thinking that the world was a special and magical place, I had my wife next to me and my son in the next room, they are still here of course but I want the magic back, I want to close my eyes again and see only the wonder of a magical chocolate creating train, I want to sleep.