08 Dec Magic: Fantasy Or Folly?

Sarah Cameron finds a little bit of magic goes a long way.

I always envisaged a magical childhood for my kids, a time filled with the types of secrets and mysteries that punctuated my own youth. Fairies and sprites hidden in tree trunks and under toadstools; anthropomorphic animals that talked when humans weren’t around; and the idea that flying was within the realms of possibility given the right outfit.

Despite my mother’s loyal protestations, I know I wasn’t a particularly creative child, but even so, the above list really only touches the surface of the make-believe in my daily life. And I’m not alone. A long-term residency in this type of fantastical world is not unusual for children, certainly not back in the day when there wasn’t a Wii to tempt weary imps and elves back indoors.

It is therefore surprising that given these joyful memories, I find myself concerned about my own child, who has been bestowed with magical powers. Thanks to his mischievous father, who has a more creative mind than mine (sorry Mum), our wide-eyed two year old has been led to believe he can perform his own brand of magic by simply clapping his hands. And those hands are amazing. Some of the feats they perform include opening automatic doors, unlocking the car, winding down windows, and making items disappear.

I’m pretty sure it started while I was at my weekly French class ‘sans enfant’. I love these Saturdays, not only for the break it gives me from being a little teapot and finding avocado on my eyelashes, but for the special time it gives my husband and son to do their own thing. They garden, build, ride bikes and create (startling) obstacle courses with ramps and tunnels. I couldn’t say which of the two loves it more.

I returned after a class to what I thought was an enthusiastic round of applause, only to discover that my son now possessed ‘magic’ powers. I laughed at first, thinking it was cute that he felt blessed with such an amazing gift. However, by Monday I realised I had a new role as magician’s assistant, endowed with the responsibility of keeping the dream alive – that is, to constantly keep an ear out for the smallest of claps and summon an accompanying magical feat.

You can probably picture me leaping in front of shopping-centre doors to ensure they open on cue with a clap, or diving for the car-door remote to be certain that the lights flash just after my son raises his hands. It’s comical, but a little tiring.

But the physical effort really wasn’t the problem. What did surprise me was my reluctance to support the magic itself. Really, me who still covets a weekend away at the Magic Faraway Tree? How could I possibly resist something fun and harmless?

My mind skipped forward a few years and I imagined my son walking into the glass doors on his first day of school, a perplexed expression on his face. I pictured him trying to explain the complex workings of his magic hands to a savvy chum, only to be laughed out of the playground and into my waiting arms.

I feel ridiculous. I’m aware of the contradiction of my magic-spruiking self, who truly values this all-too-short, dreamy time of life, and the protective lioness mother trying to protect her child from the inevitable reality.

I remember laughing unhelpfully as my sister tried to discourage her daughter from picking her nose. Her three year old matter-of-factly stated she was just looking for biscuits, as her dad had suggested. I had no sympathy (I also didn’t yet have children) and thought it hilarious that a tall tale from her dad would put such a glint in the eye of my sweet-toothed niece and cause my poor sister such distress.

Sure, finding an Anzac biscuit up your nose is not quite the same as discovering your very own superpower, but the sentiment is the same. The idea that something completely implausible was in fact wholly reasonable to a child cannot and should not be ignored. My own delicious memories of similar whimsy must surely reinforce this.

While my heart sighs each time I play a part in the fantasy and let Mr Magic Hands control electrical gadgets, I know it’s the right thing to do. I also truly delight in the very businesslike expression he wears as he claps some inanimate object into action, and the beaming grin and pure glee that follows when the magic happens and the fantasy lives on.

I figure the magical mystery tour will continue for as long as it needs to.

Illustration by Paula Mills