Purim is fast approaching and I love Purim. I love the story of Esther and Mordechai, with its emphasis on taking your destiny into your own hands, the moral of the smart outmastering the powerful, the concept of fighting against enemies with brains as well as prayer. The holiday is the perfect, noisemaker-accompanied, centuries-old pep talk (not to mention a completely faith-sanctioned boozefest) . Purim is awesome. But, today, it wasn’t the traditional verbal and/or bacchanalian cheer that made my day. It was a different kind of Purim-related upper, courtesy of the preschool next door.
Today I realized that I love children in costume. Not in that cheesier-than-should-be-legal, Anne Geddes sort of way. Rather, in an appreciation of small children’s unmitigated belief in the possibility of their dreams.
“Hello. What a beautiful princess you are,” I remark to a diminutive brunette child in a blindingly hot pink nylon dress with faux-fur, lavender trim. She is neither. But it’s lovely that, for at least one day, other people will acknowledge her fantasy as a sort of reality or, at the very least, treat it with respect. Why do I find this so moving? Perhaps because I hope that it carries over, somehow, into the adult world. Purim reminds me that perhaps there are moments when one can put aside considerations of what is practical and pick up a dusty old dream instead. And, maybe, finding just one day in which to believe in it can help us move to a happier place for more than one day. I hope so.
No comments:
Post a Comment