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A Child Fantasy


When I was a child my imaginary world was filled with gorgeous flowing pastel southern belle dresses trimmed with lace and satin ribbons. A ballroom where dancing and splendid afternoon teas took place. The orchestra played as I waltzed rhythmically gliding round the floor with elegance beyond my years.


Set in a tapestry of luxurious surroundings with 12-foot ceilings, a room 3 times the size of my home. The massive 2-story Colonial house with wrap-around porch and lavishly manicured grounds, signs of great wealth.


Tall vases of magnolia blossoms set on pedestals lined the perimeter of the ballroom, resembling soldiers guarding the sun-drenched windows. Smaller vases of orange, yellow, and white arrangements sit on the mantel and surrounding tables.


The buffet tables adorned with white lace tablecloths, linen napkins, cut-crystal glasses, and silver serving trays bursting with delicious gourmet foods my family never could have afforded. A mesmerizing fantasy conjured up in my 10-year-old brain.


Alas, I was just a poor white kid living on an island in British Columbia, with hand-me-down clothes.


There are times I drift back to the memories of that child with a vivid imagination who had a longing to be somebody of importance.


One of which was speaking in front of vast crowds. The applause was loud; I felt loved and elated. A shy kid with few friends played a large part in creating my magical life. My fantasy world was carefree.


Maybe this was my alter ego clamoring to be released.


A place to visit would mirror a portion of that child’s make-believe world. Fancy clothes, a large house, lots of friends. Standing on stage with an important message to deliver to the world.


Some of those hold a familiar ring to my present life.


I go to parties, not fancy balls, and clothes are not hand-me-downs, my house is bigger than when I was young and the important part, I have many dear friends. My stage is an elementary school. I give speeches of encouragement to students for my non-profit prior to presenting them with our good citizenship awards. My hundreds with everyone hanging on to each word are mostly 4th and 5th graders.


It is not spectacular as my childhood dreams had facilitated on my behalf, but a close second.


The ideal fictional place is where I could conquer my fears and have unshakeable confidence. As the years pass by, I worry less of what others think and give more of myself. Or is this the cycle of life when you finally become comfortable with the person you are?


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