"Nargles"
By: Jean Lyons
"Daddy!" wailed my five-year-old son, Albus. Now, all I had to do was wait for him to explain what James had done now. "Daddy, James is being mean," he pouted.
"What did he do now, Al?" I said gently.
"He says nargles aren't real, but they are, daddy! I've seen them!"
"I'm sure you have. James just doesn't understand, does he? Did you tell your mother what he said?"
He nodded.
"Well, what did she say?"
"She said he was right! That nargles aren't real!" he said, looking rather offended.
"Well, if you've seen them, then they must be real," I reasoned.
"I have!"
"Well, then don't let them bother you. It's okay as long as you know in your heart that what you believe is true. They're just silly."
"Okay."
"Now go see if you can find some nargles and prove it to him."
He ran off shouting, "See, James? Daddy says they're real!" And who am I to muffle his imagination? To stifle his personality? I grew up in a family that didn't believe in anything remotely imaginative. I always promised myself that if I ever had children (the word "if" is important here. I remember wondering if I'd ever get out of that cupboard) I'd never try to stamp out imagination. This promise to myself became stronger after the war, partly because I was finally with Ginny and the possibility of having a family was more real and partly because I knew that someday any children I had would eventually grow up, as we all do, and they would have to face the harsh reality that is the world. They would eventually encounter hate and death and evil. True, they probably wouldn't quite the same experiences as I had, but they'll face the world all the same. This war may be over, but there will always be another one. I decided that as long as they were children, they would be free to play and dream as children are supposed to. James may not remember, but just a few years ago he believed in all sorts of creatures that don't exist. Teddy Lupin, my godson, still believes in a few odd things and he's 12. He's like a slightly less loony Luna Lovegood. But it's a quality to be encouraged, though I wasn't so sure while I was in school with Luna. I'll have to apologize to her someday.
So, Albus should enjoy his childhood while he can. All too soon, it's going to end.
Yay! Another drabble done. This one is based on "Broomstick Cowboy" by Bobby Goldsboro. This song makes me all teary.
"Broomstick Cowboy"
Dream on, little Broomstick Cowboy,
Of rocket ships and Mars;
Of sunny days,And Willie Mays,
And chocolate candy bars.
Dream on, little Broomstick Cowboy,
Dream while you can;
Of big green frogs, And puppy dogs,
And castles in the sand.
For, all too soon you'll awaken;
Your toys will all be gone.
Your broomstick horse will ride away,
To find another home.
And you'll have grown into a man,
With cowboys of your own
.And then you'll have to go to war,
To try and save your home.
And then you'll have to learn to hate;
You'll have to learn to kill.
It's always been that way, my son;
I guess it always will.
No broomstick gun they'll hand you;
No longer you'll pretend.
You'll call some man your enemy;
You used to call him 'friend.'
And when the rockets thunder,
You'll hear your brothers cry.
And through it all you'll wonder
Just why they had to die.
So dream on, little Broomstick Cowboy,
Dream while you can;
For soon, you'll be a dreadful thing:
My son, you'll be a man.
