Before Neverland, Peter Almost Grew Up
In a busy London street, above all the noise, a beckoning cry bursts through it all. A little boy, eight pounds twelve ounces, with a soft swirl of hair on his head. You may know him as Peter Pan, but that wasn't his name just yet. Peter William Wright, born in the City of London, June fourth in the year 1890, the certificate read.
"He has your eyes." Mrs. Wright softly sighed.
"And my strong will!" Mr. Wright chuckled lifting his wailing newborn son where he could see him. "He shall be a great man and a brilliant little boy! I can just see it!"
Yes, he was a brilliant little boy, but to his parents dismay he stayed that way. Peter William Wright grew up to be most mischievous in his behavior. At age 2 he managed to crawl under a fence and disappear for a whole day. His panicked parents found Peter close to sunset, on the other side of London, only wearing a diaper. Days after his fifth birthday he got a hold of his father's shaver and shaved the poor dog clean of his coat, and painted the creature's skin orange with black stripes. His only reasoning to his disappointed parents was, "Mama, I made a tiger!"
Mrs. Wright often found him running wild with a painted face, ululating and climbing the bookshelves like a jungle man. It was obvious that Peter was very different from the other boys, and his parents developed a worry that he wouldn't grow out of it. At the dinner table, Peter's parents had to strictly forbid any adventurous stories of pirates, mermaids, and Indians from Peter's mouth. They grew tiresome of locking away the play swords and costumes then finding the lock rigged open minutes later, with its contents spilled. As if they owned a wild animal, Mrs. Wright had to hide all the ripped and stained curtains and expensive décor away.
Peter couldn't help himself. He thrived off adventure and imagination. His goal in life was never to live a dull moment, even while dreaming. Dreaming was Peter's above all favorite activity. Trees were more intricate than bookshelves, oceans were much more vast than bathtubs, and adventures were much more exciting than his caged London home. Peter was always the hero in his dreams and he'd always win. This is who I want to be… Peter thought after dreaming the night of his 8th birthday. Free to adventure and never grow up!
And he never changed his mind.
On a warm Sunday morning in the summer of 1902, Peter was just finishing up his tree carving when he heard a strange sound. The sound's frequency exceeded all other ears except his own; Peter always had very sensitive ears. His head darted side to side to catch the maker of the high-pitched squeal, but no sign of anything unusual…
"Peter!" Peter leaped in fright, but it was only his father calling him in for dinner. It was Peter's twelfth birthday, and Peter was not looking foreword to it. Every year he felt his youngness slipping and his body changing. He hated the feeling that he must grow up and he had no control of it. Peter let out an angry growl and stabbed his knife into his carving. As he slumped to the dinner table, in his worn out Robin Hood costume from his eighth birthday, his mother gave him a kiss on the head and pulled out his chair. There displayed in front of him was a fairly sized present, wrapped in delicate paper by his mother.
His eyes couldn't help but light up with a pinch of excitement. I love presents, Peter thought, I hope I get another costume or play sword… maybe even a bow and arrow! I am getting older, so I should be allowed some better toys! But as he tore off the paper, to his dismay the box looked boring. When he opened it, the boredom only increased: inside was a dark grey suite and pants. Peter was disgusted. He looked up disappointed and stared at his father's eager smile. A strange queasy feeling erupted in his stomach: next year he would be turning thirteen.
"I NEVER WANT TO GROW UP!" He screamed and threw his birthday present to the ground. Darting up the stairs into his room, with his mother crying and his father shouting back at him, he heard the noise again. He locked his bedroom door and lifted his window open, and started to climb down the side of his house. His father was pounding on the door, and Peter heard the tiny sound again. He didn't want to stop to look for the sound, because all he wanted right now was to run away. The night had crept in and Peter bounded around shadowing trees through the park across his street. He kept repeating, "I never want to grow up…I never want to grow up…" under his panting breath.
He tripped, fell, and landed on the coarse ground next to a tree. Peter had always been a sensitive boy, and so he started to cry. He covered his ashamed face with his hands, huddled by the tree trunk. Then the noise squeaked again. Peter lifted his head slowly, eyes bloodshot and leaking, and as he peered up he saw nothing. But he felt something! A small tap on his ear made Peter jolt. There, glowing before him like a light bulb on a string, a small person with wings was staring at him.
Peter's eyes glowed with pure excitement and fear. It seemed like one of his dreams. In fact Peter was fully convinced it was a dream. He sat there and stared at the strange creature. It wore a quaint green dress and its hair was a honey yellow in a poised bun.
"Are you a fairy?" Peter softly questioned, stretching his hand for her to rest upon. She nodded her head yes and her small body gave off a glorious sparkly light. As she sat down on Peter's thumb, the small noise jingled again. "You were making that noise!" Peter excitedly remarked, "You sound like a little bell!" The fairy nodded her head wildly and grinning. Elegantly, she flew to Peter's head, and his sensitive ears picked up a faint whisper.
"Why are you crying boy?" She quietly asked with a soothing tone.
"My parents want me to grow up." Peter slightly whimpered at the horrible thought.
Her face was sympathetic like she understood completely, and she plucked a piece of grass, flittered up to Peter's eyes, and wiped them.
"My name is Tinker Bell." She stated.
"My name is Peter William Wright. Very nice to meet you Tinker Bell." Peter replied, while gently shaking Tinker Bell's hand with his pinky.
"That's a very boring name." Tinker Bell honestly replied. "May I call you Peter Pan? It's much more fun to say!" She enthusiastically offered in Peter's ear.
"Alright, then may I call you Tink?" Peter asked, answered with a joyous nod from Tink. Peter never had any siblings nor any friends: other boys mothers found him much to wild and feared Peter's influence on their boys. Tink seemed to be the first person that he could truly get along with. "Do you live here?"
"No, I'm very far from home and I fear I might never get back…" Tink whispered in a shaky worried voice, "To tell you the truth I've lost my way. I've been sleeping in this park and you seemed the most fun of everyone who passed, so I followed you. Everyone here is so boring and serious, I thought I was hopeless till I found you."
"Well I'm far from home to, would you like to be lost together?" Peter asked, and Tink feeling comforted and cared for, smiled.
They decided the oak tree, where they first met, would be a perfect hideout for the time being. Peter climbed up with sticks and began to weave. In the tangles and twists of the tree, the talented little Peter managed to build a house out of nothing. They worked all night: Tink doing the small odds and ends and directing, while Peter put together the rest. Their small hut in the tree consisted of a small square room weaved and padded with soft leaves on the floor. A little latch in the roof opened to a hammock hanging above. Beside the hammock a small glass jar Peter found in the park, hung beside it with a leaf-padded bottom: a small bed for Tink. The entire fort was covered in leaves so strategically that their home was hidden from all eyes below.
As the two of them crawled into their beds, dawn had made its first appearance. Their sleepy eyes felt heavy and their hands were blistered and dirty. Peter rested in his hammock, exhausted but smiling; he had never had such great company. I wouldn't mind living like this forever… Peter thought. It was now confirmed in Peter's mind that this wasn't a dream, and if it was he pledged to never wake up. A marvelous idea struck him and filled him with exuberant energy. He felt silly why he didn't ask it before.
"Tink! Where did you come from?" Peter asked bursting with curiosity. Tink sat up in her feathery bed rubbing her eyes.
"Why from Neverland Peter! Where else do fairies come from?" She replied plainly.
"There are more of you?" As the mysterious name of Neverland echoed through his imagination, Peter was ready to jump out of his hammock he was so excited.
"Oh yes, and not just fairies. There are mermaids, pirates, and Indians too." Tink said with a yawn but smiled at the joy in Peter's face.
"Take me with you! Please, I don't want to stay in London, it's boring!" Peter begged while he wobbled on his knees in the rickety hammock.
"Peter that's a wonderful idea! It's the second star to the right and staight on till morning," Tink pointed her tiny finger. "But there's one thing about Neverland Peter… you never grow up." Tink remarked expecting a mixed response from Peter, but Peter only glittered with joy, howled like a wolf, and thumped his chest with his fists.
"Tinker Bell, you have saved me!" Peter yelled with a jubilant tone. There was no mistake in their friendship; Peter was just too special to stay in London, too adventurous to work in an office, and too clever to grow-up. The very next day, well more like the next night since they slept through the day, they were ready to venture to Tinker Bell's world.
"The only way to my home is flying Peter, but you don't have any wings." Tink inquired seriously then a giddy grin raced across her face, "But I'm not a fairy for nothing!" And she sprinkled her glorious dust, which Peter later named it as Pixie Dust. "Now Peter just think of a happy thought and you will fly!" Peter had no trouble thinking happy thoughts, and soared straight up into the air until Tink grabbed his foot and flew back up to his ear, "Peter, don't go too high now or I'll loose you in the stars!" So Peter followed Tinker Bell as gracefully as he could, but he wasn't discouraged, he knew he had plenty of time to learn since he wouldn't be growing up anymore.
They flew through the dark blue night, and on their way, the passed Peter's house. He saw his parents through the window, his mother's heart sunken and his father comforting her. Peter couldn't help but stay still for a moment and watch. He looked through the window of his room: It was shut. Peter felt his body sink down a little in the midnight breeze. Tink at once noticed and grabbed Peter's attention by giving his finger a tug. Peter looked at her face and remembered his mission.
"Right Tink, Neverland is where I belong, not here." But Peter couldn't help but have one last look at his parents, and then followed Tink. Too die would be an awfully big adventure… He thought. And so Peter Pan and Tinker Bell journeyed to Neverland, and his next grand adventure began. But that story is for someone else to tell…