Never Grow Up
Today, while my brother and sister-in-law braved the malls to buy their youngsters Christmas presents, I volunteered to babysit. My three year old nephew searched through a DVD collection and picked out the movie Peter Pan and of course I obliged. He had already watched it several times and could repeat some of the lines. Still, his eyes would grow in wonder at Peter Pan's ability to fly, the pirate and Indian scenes, and the swashbuckling sword fights.
When his five year old sister teared up at Tinkerbell's brief demise, he stared at her and wondered why she was so sad. He clasped her hand and whispered "she comes back".
The first time I saw Peter Pan, I was about three years old. I am pretty sure it was at Radio City Music Hall. My father was working in a hospital in New Jersey and we often made the trek to New York City to watch shows. I loved the show from the start to finish. I ended up getting several story books, coloring books and even bed sheets.
And yes, my nephew is right on many levels. Stories like this do come back, or rather, they never leave.