As a kid I remember my parents telling me about the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. The catch was that you had to run real fast as the Leprechauns would only wait long enough to down one Guinness. I didn’t fancy my chances today. Looks like the rainbow is at least three farm fields away. That includes the field with the giant, bad tempered bull and a large stream with the missing bridge (didn’t survive the last flood). Maybe next time.
Yes I know the Apple Tree needs a good trim. In my defence the last time I tried the tree fought back. I lost and ended up in the Accident Unit with an eye ball cut. Since then our only set of ladders has fallen apart. Replacement ones have to get in line with the other essential purchases. It’s going to be a long wait. With the pesky virus likely to significantly curtail my zero based hours contract, things are going to get tighter for a few months. A pot of gold in the garden would be nice. Knowing our luck it will end up on top of the Apple Tree and we won’t be able to reach it. Who needs money anyway. No guarantee that it buys you happiness. Look at the poor Leprechauns. An eternity just protecting a pot of gold. As good as a pint of Guinness is – surely there is more to life than that.
It was such a disappointment when I found out the science of rainbows. That’s another childhood belief which turns out to be a fairy tale. A large list of shattered dreams.
- Rainbow Pot of Gold,
- Easter Bunny,
- Father Christmas,
- Fairy rings,
- Lightning was an angry dragon,
- Tooth fairy,
- Man in the moon.
As I grew older more and more childhood beliefs went bust. The magic and awe in life slowly ebbing away. But to quote the XFILES – I Want to Believe. So I grimly hold onto the few which are still left. Ignoring the clear science because I Want to Believe. So in my eyes the Loch Ness Monster is still a possibility. Maybe a dino living in a deep loch cavern. My head wants to myth bust yet the heart still dreams of a Scottish Dragon.
The loss of magic and awe is a bummer. It’s a bummer for our son as well. I remember that dreaded Santa chat with the floods of tears. My tears as well. I remember the sadness of life unpicking childhood beliefs. I can see the same pain in our son. With his Aspergers traits he latches strongly onto these myths. They bring much needed warmth and magic to this cold, unforgiving alien world. I’ve told him that it’s always his choice what he believes or doesn’t believe in. Christmas now is not seen in terms of the magic of Santa but in the magic of Christmas. Some will say it’s bad parenting not to immediately disprove these fables. My take is life can be unremittingly grim, a little bit of hope, a sprinkle of magic can lift the heart. It’s good to dream. It’s lifts the heart and feeds the imagination. And just maybe brings a pot of gold.