Jul 15, 2011

The magic healer

I've said it before and I'll say it again: I just love how young children can believe, how much faith they can have in the people they trust.

Number Two fell, and then lay dramatically on the floor, tugging his leg.
"Oww, oww, my leg is broken,' he yelps.
I walk over and say, "Here, I'll fix it." I straighten his leg out and give it a light pull.
"Kiss it," he implores. "It can't get better until you kiss it."
I dutifully kiss it.
"Ahh, much better," he says, and proceeds to stand on his 'broken' leg, then run off to resume play.

Later in the day, there is an argument. Number Two has accidently slammed the door on Number One's finger.

"My bone is hurt," wails Number One.
"I said sorry," says Number Two, with a guilty look and a shrug.

Then, recalling his instant healing earlier in the day, his eyes flash wide open.
"Mama, fix koko!" (note, koko is elder brother)

I laugh, both touched and amused at his earnest faith, and to oblige, I give the brother's finger a tug and plant a kiss on it. But, as expected, it doesn't work.

"That isn't real," says Number One accusingly. "Magic isn't real."

"Hey, did I fix your leg?" I ask Number Two. He nods enthusiastically, confident that I can extend my powers to his brother. It was poignant how utterly free of doubt he was. There was an age when Number One, too, would been easily fixed. Now however, he gives me a sceptical look.

Sadly, those who can't believe, deny themselves the magic.

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