RSVP: on facebook - https://www.facebook.com/events/243291069741972/
Here's a short:
LAND OF WONDER
“…and how she would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all their simple joys, remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days.” John closed the book and set it on the end table.
The little girl had started to fall asleep but sat upright when book hit table. “Wait, dad.”
John stopped half way to standing up and remained that way long enough to ask, “What do you need, honey?”
The little girl paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. Finally, she asked, “Is Wonderland a real place?”
“I think it is imaginary.” John was now the one pausing and collecting thoughts. “Though, I suppose, it could be a real place that you can only travel to via imagination.”
“What’s via?”
“It’s like a fancy way of saying ‘by means of.’”
A blank stare.
“What I’m saying that maybe Wonderland is real, but you can only get there by using your imagination.”
“If you have to use your imagination, what makes it real?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just made-up. It’s not a true story if that’s what you are asking.”
“Does the March Hare know he’s made up?”
“Well, he isn’t really real, so he doesn’t know anything.”
“He knows his songs. And he knows it’s teatime because Hatter killed time.”
“Okay, well, in the book he knows those things, but he’s a made-up character in the story. Well, and the story is made-up, so it’s like he’s doubly made-up.”
“He’s dubbly?”
“It’s time for bed, sweety.”
“Okay, but does he know that he made up in the story? Does he know about that like he knows about teatime?”
“I don’t think he knows he’s made-up,” John said, clicking off the light.
“How do I know I’m not made up?”
John repressed the urge to say several words he didn’t want his daughter to hear. He paused once again, his thought collection growing so large as to necessitate a nice display case. “Well, Descartes- never mind. You know that you can think. And if you can think, you know at least that you are a thing that thinks.”
John mentally high-fived himself for remembering that day in college. This was some Sheriff Andy Taylor level parenting right here.
John made it to the threshold before the tiny voice stopped him.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“How do I know that you are real?”
John had one foot in the hallway. “I guess you’ll have to take my word for it.”
He closed the door behind him.
The little girl stared at the closed door and said aloud, “What the heck does that mean?”