Ex Penna

...or a vampire or a werewolf.  Or to fly on a broomstick.  Or to live forever.  "You do have them, don't you?  Witches do that sort of thing, right?  'Cause I really, really need it." 



I think I've been asked for all these things and more.  Some experienced folks roll their eyes at these questions and change the subject, some launch into lectures on the use of true magic, and others sharpen their cynicism with snarky comments to shut down newbies who "still believe in that Hollywood stuff."

But it's not really the notion that it's "Hollywood stuff" that irks (especially since these are human dreams that predate and extend far beyond movies and media).  It's the idea that the person standing in front of you is so new and fresh that everything is possible to those who know how.  And they desperately hope you're one who knows how.  Is that so bad?  Is that something to squash?

I say no.  But, then again, I may have come to this a little differently than most.  Let me tell you about my first experience with the plausible impossible...

It was when Gigi was a baby and we lived in what could arguably be called the most social community we've ever been a part of.  We were a young family with lots of neighbors in a small area.  I always hung laundry with the lady who's backyard connected to ours.  My husband worked on cars with the guy across the road.  And there were kids everywhere.  A new mom with a newly toddling daughter was just too much fun to keep the kids away.  Going swimming in the creek, riding bike, climbing trees, and playing toys with Gigi was all the rage.  I had many summertime pre-teen visitors before I knew it, especially after they found out I was a witch.

That was the most exciting news ever, evidently, and word spread like wildfire.  Soon, I was barraged with questions and new faces popped in my door regularly.  With parents permission, they flipped through my books and even borrowed one or two.  They wanted to see my wand, know what everything on the altar did, and if witches have Christmas.  I didn't mind.  It was kind of cute.  So long as no parents got angry that their kids were asking me questions that I truthfully answered, all was well. 

On my wall was a fascinating object to these girls: my broom.  It hung over our large front window, it's unvarnished handle cradled in two black padded hooks.  I thought it looked rather pretty up there, but to the girls, it was a sure sign that I kept it up out of harm's way when I wasn't flying it through the air.

One day one of the girls asked the question directly.  I joked and said that it's much too cold at night for flying.  They persisted: did I, could I, actually fly it?  I asked simply "If I could fly on a broomstick, why would I own a car?"  They went silent and then the topic changed.  I left it at that.  I didn't want to kill the fun of the topic.  After all, who hasn't dreamed of flying away?  Isn't flying the ultimate freedom?  I didn't want to take that away so harshly.

Later we decided to go for a swim and after changing into suits we all met on the grassy hill before the creek side.  With Gigi wobbling along, I fell behind the giggling crowd of girls.  One girl fell behind with me.  She bit her lip and kept glancing at me like she wanted to say something but lacked the nerve.  Finally she leaned in and asked quietly, so the others couldn't hear, "Can't you...just...fly it a little?" My heart almost broke.  She was 12 and so willing to believe.  If I'd said I could manage about 5 feet off the ground, she'd have been there the next day to learn how.  How could I explain the truly impressive work of magic if I now flattened her hopes by telling her that the kind of magic she understood wasn't real? 


I saw in her the girl Gigi would one day become.  Do I tell her the version of life that was handed down to me by my mother, that life is full of pain and tough breaks?  Or should I tell her what I desperately wanted to believe myself, that life is endless possibility and you can accomplish anything your heart desires?  While she looked at me with big almost pleading eyes, I weighed my options.  In the end, I decided to tell her the truth, my way:

"I don't know how to fly it.  Maybe it can be done, but there are lots of things I haven't learned yet and that's one of them."

She listened quietly and stayed quiet for a long while after, clearly thinking.  I may have taken my previous stature down a bit in her eyes, but I tried my best to split the difference between pessimism and optimism.  One cannot be cured by the other, only killed.  In between, I believe, is real possibility.

So if you come to me for spells that give you night vision or the ability to talk to animals, I won't laugh or scoff.  I will do my best to help, because you are full of promise and light just in asking.  I could use twenty more students like that!  And, in fairness, there's actual traditional magic for a lot of this "Hollywood stuff."  Whether or not it works is for you to decide.  You may become a beautiful mermaid or you may have to say "There are lots of things I haven't learned yet and that's one of them."