Princesses in the Park
a true story
I was out of town the day my daughters saw princesses in the park.
“You’ll never believe it, Dad,” they said, eyes wide, mouths agape. “There were princesses at our picnic!”
I smiled, nodded. I did believe it—I’ve been to that park. I once saw a woman there dressed in sparkles and wearing a snake like a winter scarf. Big, heavy thing—definitely one of the snakes you hear about getting loose in the plumbing of an old apartment building and wreaking havoc on local pets. One of those snakes you probably shouldn’t have in your home, let alone around your neck. One of those snakes you should’ve left in the jungle. She’d brought a team of photographers to capture the moment and I guess the snake if it got loose. I assumed she was important.
Princesses, by comparison, seemed almost mundane.
“Real princesses?” I asked. “That’s pretty special.”
They nodded, but clearly they wondered: Was I a true believer? Or was I just humoring them?
“And the tulips were in full bloom,” my wife added, helpfully. “Peak season.” The tulips were the draw, after all—rows and rows of abundant colors bursting out of the sleepy soil right there in the middle of the city. Surprising and unexpected.
“Tulips and princesses,” I replied. “How about that.”
*
As it happened, we returned to that same park the following weekend. Another picnic, another sunny day. Tulips, too.
“Not as good as last weekend,” my wife said.
“They look pretty good to me,” I replied.
She shrugged. They were past their prime. We were coming down from the peak.
Still, we wandered the gardens. The girls collected fallen flower petals. Occasionally they came upon a whole flower that had mysteriously found itself uprooted and lying next to its upright brethren.
“Yes—you can bring that one home.”
They were giddy after that. Nothing could top a nearly-whole tulip. Not even the princesses.
“Look, Dad—the princesses.” My eldest caught my attention, pointed me toward a group of high school guys in tuxes. With them were two young women.
They’re going to prom, I realized. My wife caught my eye, nodded.
“Wow,” I said to my daughter. “They’re back.”
“There were more last week,” she said, like it was the most usual thing in the world. Princesses indeed.
Both girls clutched their wilting flower collection, and we headed for the car.
*
“We should let the girls go up to those kids,” I said to my wife as we walked. “I bet those girls would get a kick out of knowing there were kids here who thought they were princesses! Could be the highlight of their night.”
“I hope not,” my wife replied. I laughed.
Still. I’m struck by the ease with which my daughters moved between the magical and the mundane. It’s all part of the story, their story.
And I wonder: Will they, too, one day evoke that same kind of wonder and awe from strangers? Will some little girl one day pull at her parent’s sleeve, pointing at and unbeknownst to my girls, insisting: Look, there! Princesses!
And another thing:
In this week’s “Now Discern This,” I find God while mowing the lawn. Check it out.
I contributed a guest post over at “God In All Things” about—what else?—Star Wars and Ignatian spirituality. Give it a read.
Oh, Eric... I haven't been reading your work for a year yet, but I'm sure your daughters inherited their ability to seamlessly move from the magical to the mundane. Well written and inspiring. Thank you!