The Land of Dreams
I was very little when I heard my first Peter Pan Story. I was sitting on my Grandmother's lap when I heard the tales of a flying boy with friends who fought pirates, made friends with Indians and visited mermaids regularly. It was as if I had flown there myself the vivid color that my grandmother painted with words, was a whole other world for me to explore. This was just another place for me to go when I felt all alone.
I didn't usually feel alone. I had my parents and my sister and brother, friends and of course my Grandmother. I loved them all dearly. Every time we would visit my dear Grandmother's house I would practically BEG for a story, mostly about Peter and his best friend Tinkerbell the Fairy. I would pretend that she came to my window with Peter and took me to an island far away in the sky. Past the old clock and on to the second star to the right, we'd fly and crow and laugh the whole way to the land of dreams.
I never grew out of these stories. I told them to the children I babysat. I told them to my brother and sister. I acted them out, and I never got tired of listening to my grandma tell them. Never. I had dreams of Tink coming to my window at night and watching me sleep and then racing off to tell Peter of a new friend that they could play with. I left my window open at night so she could get in and wake me. Or Peter's shadow could race in and get trapped in my desk drawer. I never lost faith that he existed. Never once did I falter in my trust that he was real. He was real to me.he visited me often in my sleep. He was real in the stories that I told. He was real in the stories told to me. He WAS real. He had to be. He was my friend and I told him secrets in Neverland. I cannot stress enough how real.how human he was to me.
My visitations with my grandmother got less frequent as time passed on. But my imagination still sang as my age increased. I was still a child. In heart and in mind I was still a child. My body aged but I did not. My spirit was still soaring with a boy living in Neverland with fairies and lost boys, pirates and mermaids. In a sense my inner being was living in Neverland, not growing up while my body was still here aging. Everything around me changed.my sister and brother didn't want to hear my stories anymore. They had aged entirely. They didn't believe anymore. But I did. I still left my window open and still looked for the second star to the right every night before I went to bed.
As I said my visiting with my grandma got to be less and less. Then one day I got terrible news. She had cancer. I was distraught! I couldn't believe it! I couldn't do anything except pray. Chemotherapy didn't help her. She was going to die. It was just a matter of time. I don't remember what day it was. I don't remember what time of year even. I do remember I went to school and came home to very awful news. My dear Grandmother, teller of Peter Pan stories, maker of cookies, teacher of piano, and giver of hugs, had died. I wasn't allowed to attend her funeral. It was because the disease changed her apperance so much that I was forbidden to attend. When I visited her grave for the first time I felt a sense of finality that was so great that I almost couldn't speak. But I wanted to tell her something. So I did. I told her a Peter Pan story. A story she had told me many times and had loved telling, "then Peter made a quick gesture with his dagger and Hook's hand lay bleeding on the deck. He picked it up and threw it over the side of the ship where the ticking crocodile lay in wait for someone to go off the plank." I finished the story and turned to walk away. I thought to myself, "I hope she liked it."
Some people would have stopped telling stories after that, not me. I kept right on believing and kept right on telling. I told them to myself most of the time because no one else was child enough to want to hear them. I kept looking for the star and kept talking to Peter in my dreams. We flew and crowed louder than ever! My grandmother was there once. And she smiled at me before disappearing.
My other life outside of Neverland kept me pretty busy for awhile. School, friends, and music swept in and became big parts in my life. The day belonged to them, but the night belonged to me and Peter swirling on big fluffy clouds, playing games with the lost boys and nearly getting caught by Captain Jas. Hook. Not all my dreams were about Peter though. I had another life remember? It was getting bigger. School plays and high school were here and I needed to concentrate on Marching Band and Drama as well as the Rock And Roll Band that I was in. New Friends came and went but Peter still came to visit.
Peter was my confidant. He was my friend. I told him everything and he told me everything. There were no secrets. He was very real to me and it hurt one day when my sister said "you do know he's not real and you'll HAVE to grow up someday!" It hurt that she had grown up. She was younger than I but she still had left the realm of childhood and was on the road to an adult life. Even my brother, who is 4 years younger than I, had outgrown his boyish nature. I felt alone. Had it not been for my friends giving me encouragement I would never have seen Peter again.
You may be thinking that I'm crazy for holding on to Neverland and stories of Peter Pan for so long. But my childhood was my saving grace. I never wanted to loose the innocence I possessed during childhood. I always wanted to be young. I always wanted to have fun and stay carefree.innocent and joyful.
Love came and went dances, friends, music, and concerts. My innocence was slowly being stripped away. Peter became less and less and my window got lonely waiting for shadows and fairies. I was distracted by the world around me and I needed him less than I did before. I dreamt of other things and one morning I woke up and shut my window. It was cold outside.I had begun to grow up.
Another year had passed and I had aged more in one year than I had in the last 3 years. I was mature and could now handle the full responsibility of life without a friend from Neverland to help me. But little did I know that deep down inside there was still a child, lost in the dark, waiting to get out.
More bad news reached my ears only a few short weeks ago that unleashed the child within. My parents, married for 17 years (one year older than I), were getting a divorce. My childlike nature took over my body and I didn't know what to do. I was so confused and lost. One night I went to sleep and Peter came to visit. He had sensed that there was something wrong and had come to comfort me.
I needed him now more than I ever had. I needed to talk with him. To tell him my fears and tell him what was going on. I needed his companionship, and I needed to re-visit a place I had long forgotten. I needed to go to Neverland. We tried to fly but I couldn't find my happy thought. I couldn't think of anything that made me happy because everything seemed so bleak. Peter and Tink tried everything but nothing helped. Then one night I was talking to an old and distant friend. He reminded me what it was like to live, to breathe and to sing onstage. My fiery spirit was unleashed. I had remembered my happy "thawt".the stage.
Ever since I remembered my happy thought.my window didn't need to be lonely anymore. Peter visits me in my times of need, which are many. And he is always there when I need to get away from the harsh reality of the real world. He is my saving grace. He is my childhood and he is my joy. He symbolizes innocence and personifies joy and reminds the child in each of us of our happy thoughts. No one ever thanks him in the stories.so I thank you now.Thank you Peter Pan.
I was very little when I heard my first Peter Pan Story. I was sitting on my Grandmother's lap when I heard the tales of a flying boy with friends who fought pirates, made friends with Indians and visited mermaids regularly. It was as if I had flown there myself the vivid color that my grandmother painted with words, was a whole other world for me to explore. This was just another place for me to go when I felt all alone.
I didn't usually feel alone. I had my parents and my sister and brother, friends and of course my Grandmother. I loved them all dearly. Every time we would visit my dear Grandmother's house I would practically BEG for a story, mostly about Peter and his best friend Tinkerbell the Fairy. I would pretend that she came to my window with Peter and took me to an island far away in the sky. Past the old clock and on to the second star to the right, we'd fly and crow and laugh the whole way to the land of dreams.
I never grew out of these stories. I told them to the children I babysat. I told them to my brother and sister. I acted them out, and I never got tired of listening to my grandma tell them. Never. I had dreams of Tink coming to my window at night and watching me sleep and then racing off to tell Peter of a new friend that they could play with. I left my window open at night so she could get in and wake me. Or Peter's shadow could race in and get trapped in my desk drawer. I never lost faith that he existed. Never once did I falter in my trust that he was real. He was real to me.he visited me often in my sleep. He was real in the stories that I told. He was real in the stories told to me. He WAS real. He had to be. He was my friend and I told him secrets in Neverland. I cannot stress enough how real.how human he was to me.
My visitations with my grandmother got less frequent as time passed on. But my imagination still sang as my age increased. I was still a child. In heart and in mind I was still a child. My body aged but I did not. My spirit was still soaring with a boy living in Neverland with fairies and lost boys, pirates and mermaids. In a sense my inner being was living in Neverland, not growing up while my body was still here aging. Everything around me changed.my sister and brother didn't want to hear my stories anymore. They had aged entirely. They didn't believe anymore. But I did. I still left my window open and still looked for the second star to the right every night before I went to bed.
As I said my visiting with my grandma got to be less and less. Then one day I got terrible news. She had cancer. I was distraught! I couldn't believe it! I couldn't do anything except pray. Chemotherapy didn't help her. She was going to die. It was just a matter of time. I don't remember what day it was. I don't remember what time of year even. I do remember I went to school and came home to very awful news. My dear Grandmother, teller of Peter Pan stories, maker of cookies, teacher of piano, and giver of hugs, had died. I wasn't allowed to attend her funeral. It was because the disease changed her apperance so much that I was forbidden to attend. When I visited her grave for the first time I felt a sense of finality that was so great that I almost couldn't speak. But I wanted to tell her something. So I did. I told her a Peter Pan story. A story she had told me many times and had loved telling, "then Peter made a quick gesture with his dagger and Hook's hand lay bleeding on the deck. He picked it up and threw it over the side of the ship where the ticking crocodile lay in wait for someone to go off the plank." I finished the story and turned to walk away. I thought to myself, "I hope she liked it."
Some people would have stopped telling stories after that, not me. I kept right on believing and kept right on telling. I told them to myself most of the time because no one else was child enough to want to hear them. I kept looking for the star and kept talking to Peter in my dreams. We flew and crowed louder than ever! My grandmother was there once. And she smiled at me before disappearing.
My other life outside of Neverland kept me pretty busy for awhile. School, friends, and music swept in and became big parts in my life. The day belonged to them, but the night belonged to me and Peter swirling on big fluffy clouds, playing games with the lost boys and nearly getting caught by Captain Jas. Hook. Not all my dreams were about Peter though. I had another life remember? It was getting bigger. School plays and high school were here and I needed to concentrate on Marching Band and Drama as well as the Rock And Roll Band that I was in. New Friends came and went but Peter still came to visit.
Peter was my confidant. He was my friend. I told him everything and he told me everything. There were no secrets. He was very real to me and it hurt one day when my sister said "you do know he's not real and you'll HAVE to grow up someday!" It hurt that she had grown up. She was younger than I but she still had left the realm of childhood and was on the road to an adult life. Even my brother, who is 4 years younger than I, had outgrown his boyish nature. I felt alone. Had it not been for my friends giving me encouragement I would never have seen Peter again.
You may be thinking that I'm crazy for holding on to Neverland and stories of Peter Pan for so long. But my childhood was my saving grace. I never wanted to loose the innocence I possessed during childhood. I always wanted to be young. I always wanted to have fun and stay carefree.innocent and joyful.
Love came and went dances, friends, music, and concerts. My innocence was slowly being stripped away. Peter became less and less and my window got lonely waiting for shadows and fairies. I was distracted by the world around me and I needed him less than I did before. I dreamt of other things and one morning I woke up and shut my window. It was cold outside.I had begun to grow up.
Another year had passed and I had aged more in one year than I had in the last 3 years. I was mature and could now handle the full responsibility of life without a friend from Neverland to help me. But little did I know that deep down inside there was still a child, lost in the dark, waiting to get out.
More bad news reached my ears only a few short weeks ago that unleashed the child within. My parents, married for 17 years (one year older than I), were getting a divorce. My childlike nature took over my body and I didn't know what to do. I was so confused and lost. One night I went to sleep and Peter came to visit. He had sensed that there was something wrong and had come to comfort me.
I needed him now more than I ever had. I needed to talk with him. To tell him my fears and tell him what was going on. I needed his companionship, and I needed to re-visit a place I had long forgotten. I needed to go to Neverland. We tried to fly but I couldn't find my happy thought. I couldn't think of anything that made me happy because everything seemed so bleak. Peter and Tink tried everything but nothing helped. Then one night I was talking to an old and distant friend. He reminded me what it was like to live, to breathe and to sing onstage. My fiery spirit was unleashed. I had remembered my happy "thawt".the stage.
Ever since I remembered my happy thought.my window didn't need to be lonely anymore. Peter visits me in my times of need, which are many. And he is always there when I need to get away from the harsh reality of the real world. He is my saving grace. He is my childhood and he is my joy. He symbolizes innocence and personifies joy and reminds the child in each of us of our happy thoughts. No one ever thanks him in the stories.so I thank you now.Thank you Peter Pan.