You say so, but I think it is your biggest pretend. Or: Why My Mom Thought I Was Special Ed, Part 2

HOW I LEARNED TO FLY
Wendy

After the Clara incident , my parents were relieved when I finally went back to being Becca again, retiring the Nutcracker to the attic with the other Christmas decorations. Little did they know the most lasting, the most impressionable, the worst character was yet to come.

Y'all know my obsession with all things Peter Pan and Neverland, Captain Hooks and Jolly Rogers, Tinkerbell and Fairy Dust... but did you know it started at the tender age of three?

The day started like any other, I imagine. My mom probably popped in Disney's Peter Pan to keep me quiet, to give herself a break from her three and six year old daughters. Can't say that I blame her. But Peter Pan resonated with me. I had a quarter-life crisis at the age of three. I didn't want to grow up, I didn't want to get a job and work for a living. I wanted to live in pretend. I still do. Twenty years later and I haven't really changed at all. Peter Pan is probably the single-biggest influence on my life. Peter Pan syndrome? Yes, please.

(the funny thing about this is that during High School and College, I was so eager to be done, to be in the "real world," to have a job and a life. Now I have something resembling that and want to go back to being that wide eyed kid full of optimism. I want to be Season 1 Dawson, not season 5 Dawson... but more on this at a different time) Back to Neverland.

I watched Peter fight the pirates, rescue the Indian princess, save Wendy, and let her go. I didn't realize then how sad Peter Pan really is. But who does at the age of three? I went to my room and my world transformed. I saw myself as Wendy, my ringleted hair cascading around my face as I kept my window open for Peter. The view from my room changed from the humid summer of Virginia to a snowy winter in London. Our black lab Winnie was now Nana. I refused to answer to anything but Wendy.

Now, this is the story my Dad LOOOOVVES to tell at every family gathering. It was actually only recently I heard the full story. (I was three, remember? I have a poor memory). My "characters" are a lasting family joke as it is... everyone's got that story. This is mine. Well... one of them.

My obsession with Peter and Wendy reached a point where it was too much. My poor parents. It was getting late, and I was outside on the front porch, refusing to come in. Waiting for Peter. I told them they weren't my parents. That I was Wendy Darling. Nothing they could do or say would deter my stubborn brain. I sat, and I waited. Waited for him to come and take me away on an adventure.

Fed up, my Dad came out, and put me in the car. He drove me down the road to an abandoned field where there was naught but a small shack in the middle of it. He told me to get out. He told me the shack was the Darling's house and that Peter would find me there.

I broke. I admitted I was really Becca, and that he was my father. I cried. And cried.

As we were driving back to the Weimer house, I looked up at him and asked 

"But can I still be Wendy Darling sometimes?"

Next up: How I got my spots and Ate off the Floor

photos from Fever of Fate