When I was young, it seemed that life was so wonderful, a miracle, oh it was beautiful, magical..
The Logical Song - Supertramp 1979 - written and sung by Roger Hodgson, Breakfast in America album.
I had a couple of coffees with a friend this morning, as he explained his working situation and the bullying and stone age behaviours that went on in the workplace; he had finally pulled the pin on.
He resigned the day he got back from a holiday to the place of his birth, which he had left as a child filled with wonderment.
After about 20 minutes, I had to stop him and tell him that his entire demeanour when describing his workplace, compared to that of him describing his birthplace, was like Jekyll and Hyde.
Jekyll, his workplace whinger, was agitated, exasperated, hollow-eyed, avoiding eye contact and red-faced at times.
Hyde, his homeland halcyon, was beaming, bright-eyed, shoulders back, chest open, and literally on the edge of his seat, leaning forward and engaging.
Where across the course of your day today, could you consider where it might be that you notice the shift in your demeanour when around certain people or environments?
Our homes should be our soft place to fall. When we’re born, we carry only two fears: the fear of falling and the fear of loud noises. That’s it. Everything else, the anxiety, the overthinking, the fear of rejection or failure, we learn.
In childhood, the world feels magical. Logically, when we’re young, “life is so wonderful, a miracle, oh it is beautiful, magical.” But then, slowly, the lessons of life start to chip away at that wonder.
On the very last day of school, when I would have been 10, our 5th-grade teacher asked all those who believed in Santa Claus to stand up. I stood up without too much thought, along with two other girls.
“Sit down, Lee, you idiot!” shouted the wonderful human being who was my first real teacher in how the world doesn’t always reward innocence, as she proceeded to convince the two standing girls that the magic and wonder of Santa Claus was a Christmas fallacy.
Childhood teaches us that the world is safe, kind, and fair, until someone shows us otherwise. For me, that lesson came not through some dramatic event, but through the quiet cruelty of a teacher who saw honesty as stupidity and wonder as weakness.
It’s strange how easily the world convinces us to trade our curiosity for caution and our dreams for doubt. I’ve since learned that protecting a child’s imagination is one of the most important responsibilities we have as adults. Not because children shouldn’t know the truth, but because they shouldn’t lose their sense of possibility before life demands it.
That day didn’t just confuse me about my belief in Santa Claus. It marked the first crack in how I saw people.
A reminder that sometimes, the harshest lessons don’t build you, they harden you.
But only if you let them.
Where across the course of your day today, could you consider who it is in your world that still believes in magic, and how you can help protect that belief just a little longer?
The “age of innocence” is heartbreakingly brief. Children have their whole lives to carry the weight of adult fears, responsibilities, and doubts. As “grown-ups”, we have an obligation not to rush them into that. The world will eventually try as hard as it can to crush their childhood dreams at some later stage, ideally.
Later in the Supertramp song, there are the lyrics:
But then they sent me away to teach me how to be sensible
Logical, oh, responsible, practical
And then they showed me a world where I could be so dependable
Oh, clinical, oh, intellectual, cynical
Where across the course of your day today, could you consider where it might be that you first felt the shift from innocence to cynicism?
I didn’t accept my teacher’s cruel lie about Santa Claus straight away. I kept that horrible fallacy to myself until Christmas Eve of that same year, when I quietly ran the slander past my older brother Terry.
To my childish horror, he concurred with the teacher, further adding to my confusion of the illusion by saying “Don’t let Mum and Dad know that you know, or you won’t get any presents from SANTA”, emphasising the word SANTA and following his revelation up with a wink.
Perhaps the real work of adulthood isn’t about becoming serious or sensible. It’s about learning how to carry wisdom without letting it weigh down your wonder. To protect the magic in others, even as you rebuild it in yourself.
My advice to my mate from this morning was to channel his homeboy every time he feels like looking on the dark side of life. It looks much better on him, and he owes that to himself because he is kind and considerate.
Children don’t overthink yesterday. They’re not anxious about tomorrow. They live fully in the now, the very thing most adults spend their lives trying to relearn.
And yet, so easily, adults become the ones who steal that from them.
I see it in the words we choose. A throwaway remark. A joke that’s too sharp. Swearing in front of a child who’s just starting to find their language. Telling a child they “can’t” or “won’t” or that their dream is “silly.”
So choose your words carefully. Choose your reactions carefully. Whether you’re speaking to a child or a stranger in a café queue, remember that we’re all walking that fragile line between wonder and worry.
Don’t be the person who turns the magic off. Be the one who lets the music play a little longer.
Because the world needs fewer people who shatter dreams, even those of adults, as workplace bullies like to do, and we need more heroes who quietly protect them.
My mate took a stand for right and wrong and voted with his feet.
While you’re thinking about that, think about this and have a Gr8 day!
Be well.
DL
"Above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you, because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it."
Roald Dahl - 1916 - 1990 - Minpins; published posthumously in 1991.
DL BONUS JOKE :
There was once a little boy who woke up on his 10th birthday and ran downstairs to open his presents. His father was sitting at the breakfast table reading the paper and said to him, “Son, today I am going to tell you about the birds and the bees.”
The little boy covered his ears and stomped up and down, shouting: “No! No! No! Don’t tell me. Stop!”
His father had known his son to be a calm and well-mannered young boy, so he was pretty shocked at his behaviour. He put a calming hand on his shoulder and asked what was causing such a reaction.
“Daddy, on my seventh birthday, you told me there was no such thing as the tooth fairy, and I’ve never got another dollar under my pillow since,” the little boy answered. “Then on my eighth birthday, you told me there was no such thing as the Easter Bunny, and chocolate has never tasted the same since.”
“On this very day, one year ago, you told me there was no such thing as Santa Claus, and last Christmas was the worst Christmas Day ever!
“If you are going to tell me today, on my 10th birthday, that grown-ups don’t really “do it,” then what have I got to live for?”