What is real

"I don't understand it, Daddy, I just love Big Bear so much" she said. He's been riding this tricycle all over the yard, fields, and driveway for the past three days or so. If I ever thought she'd come out of the little make-believe imaginary life where she's spent most of her time since toddlerhood, I was sorely wrong. That world for her has only expanded and become more textured, colorful and deep. I wish she'd take me there some time, but I'm afraid it's not a place for grownups.

When I notice I've become too busy for my own good, or that I've lost my imagination, it helps me to stop and pay attention to the little ones around. They have a way of finding the good space, where the innanimate becomes real, where what's fair is obvious and undisputed, and time has no importance or pull in the progress of the day. It's so far removed from my often regimented daily schedule that I wonder if there's a way to make freedom and order coexist or if the magic of childhood is what it is because it eventually is lost.