When I was little, my world was filled with imagination and wonder. My parents encouraged and even participated in the illusion. I was read stories, sang made up songs, and all the magic and wonder I could ever hope for were available at my finger tips. I never questioned the existence of faeries, dragons, trolls, talking stuffed animals and other creatures created by my parents. Why should I? I had proof. My father once drew me a picture of a run-of-the-mill Galumpus, a snazzily dressed creature that hung in my room. There was an Ogengoblin too, but sadly I don’t remember him. Yard gnomes frolicked in the yard while basement trolls paroled the grounds while we slept. I had tea parties and long conversations with the wide variety of stuffed animals and was taught to listen carefully for the whispers of creatures in the woods. I learned that I was a ballerina, a super hero, a poor but valiant orphan, a princess, a ruler of the universe, what ever I wanted. I recently spent an afternoon with the son of a friend. She had things to do and asked if we could take him for a bit. We were headed hiking with the dog, so swung by to pick him up and take him along for the ride. We had a blast, and I am pretty sure he did too. As we walked through woods and fields, I explained to him about wood trolls. Being a sharp little boy, he quickly picked up on things and was soon alerting us to any nearby trolls. Slightly concerned, he asked if it was safe. I explained that yes, it was. They were just interested in watching. I also mentioned that we have a Norwegian troll in our house, and that it likes to peek out to see what we are doing. He found this intriguing and wondered if he could one day come see the troll. I assured him that this was possible. Later on, due to unseen delays, my friend called to ask if we could take him home and they would come get him later that evening. We packed up the dog and the boy, then headed to our house. Now, I do in fact have a small statue of a Norwegian troll that was given to me years ago. He currently resides on the book shelf at our house. Once the boy was fed, he settled on the couch with my husband to watch a movie. At some point while sitting on the couch, I casually mentioned that he might see the troll if he were careful not to spook it. After some intense searching, he finally spotted the little troll. “What’s he doing?” he asked. I carefully explained that like the woodland trolls, he was just watching. I explained that he just showed up one day, and after some thought decided that this was a nice place to live. He had been here ever since. I also explained that yes, he did move around. The boy was fascinated. Eventually his parents came to collect him. I learned from his mother that he talked constantly about the troll at our house. For Halloween, she let me know they were coming out for Trick O Treat. When they arrived, he asked if he could find the troll. I explained yes, I thought it was in the kitchen. Sure enough, this time the troll was in the kitchen behind a tea pot. Now in all seriousness, this boy is very aware that the troll is a statue. He knows fact from fiction. And yet, he is one of the few children I have met that still appreciate whimsy. Luckily his parents recognize this and encourage it. I have it on good authority that they now have their own troll. Apparently it showed up one day and decided that they had a good place to live. Here’s to all those Trolls who are able to find their own whimsical homes…and the children that let them inside.
Written November 21, 2009
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