The Lost Looking Glass of Peter Pan

The Lost Looking Glass of Peter Pan

Strange forces were at work. The loadstone of the human mind is more mysterious, and just as powerful, as the irresistible attraction the little needle on your compass has for the land far to the North. Henry had walked this way a thousand times, but today he was swept through the front door of Trudy’s Treasures as if he were on autopilot. No thought, just feet slowly shuffling their way along the worn wooden floor through a menagerie of peculiar objects perceived by someone to have outlived their usefulness, and now, perhaps, destined for renewed purpose in the lives of others. 

“Can I help you?”

“Who, me?”

Trudy’s first customer of the day seemed confused.

“Yes, if you have any questions, I’ll be here. I’m always here.”

Questions? Had the gift of speech not eluded Henry for the moment, he might have inquired as to where he was and why he was there.

Music boxes, Christmas ornaments, baby cribs, shoes, bonnets, dolls, bikes, bowls, caps, an army of figurines, beer signs, anything that had once served mankind, had found their way onto the packed shelves of Trudy’s. Henry strode up and down the aisles without noticing any of it, but then that magnetic force thing stopped Henry in his tracks. It wasn’t his reflection peering back at him from the clouded mirror framed by hand-carved oak; it was Henry, from a time the years had buried and Henry could barely remember. The image of a 6-year-old boy with disheveled hair and a mischievous grin stirred his memory and touched his heart. What had become of that little boy?

“What is that, Henry?”

“It’s a mirror. It will look nice in my office.”

“What? Why would you want that ugly thing in your office?”

Henry wasn’t sure.

“And where did you get it?”

Henry didn’t know that one either.

“Please don’t tell me you paid for that thing.”

Martha had stumped him again.

Long after Martha had gone to bed, Henry studied the face of that little boy in the mirror in the dim light of his small office, and finally, he remembered- the carefree moments of play, the wonder of all things seen for the first time, the ability to imagine and dream, the life of a child. The boy’s smile grabbed hold of him, jumped from the mirror and onto his face, never to let go. Time could no longer erase the memory as the magic of the mirror dusted off the years, and Henry’s smile matched the grin in the mirror. Henry was still Henry.

“Good morning, dear.”

Martha had not heard that tone for years. Her husband seemed…different.

“What are you so happy about?”

“What day is it?”

“Are you okay, Henry? It’s Thanksgiving Day. How could you forget that? Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Thanksgiving! Oh, my gosh, I’ve got to get going on my list.”

“List? What list?”

“My wish list. Christmas is only a month away and Santa is coming. I better get moving.”

A very perplexed Martha watched Henry hurry off to his office.

Henry thought, and wrote, with great excitement:

- A new sled.

- A battery-operated robot.

- A Nerf gun that shot Nerf bullets.

- A Candy Land game.

- Plastic dinosaurs that could fight each other.

- A dump truck that actually dumped stuff.

-Electric train with engine that blows real smoke.

Henry looked up and saw the mirror hanging on the wall next to his desk. He stood and saw the little boy looking back at him. Henry was happy to see him again.

“Yes, Doctor Barnes, he believes in Santa.”

“What do you mean by that, Martha?”

“I mean what I said. My husband believes in Santa Claus.”

“No...”

“Yes, he thinks Santa will be coming at Christmas. He spends hours working on his wish list.”

The good doctor had known Henry for years, and it was difficult to take Martha’s call seriously.

“What’s his position on the Easter Bunny…or the Great Pumpkin… the Tooth Fairy?”

After coping with Henry’s rediscovered belief in the jolly old elf for more than a week, Martha was not in the mood.

“Dammit, Doctor! My 54-year-old husband believes in Santa! This is not funny.”

“Well… it’s a little funny…heh, heh, heh.”

Henry’s co-workers were likewise befuddled.

“Fred, what kind of cookies do you put out for Santa on Christmas Eve?”

“Huh?”

“I usually do chocolate chip, but this year I’m going to put out some peanut butter cookies. I think Santa will like the change.”

“Huh?”

“And I’m worried the milk will get warm. How do you get the milk to stay cold for Santa, Fred?”

“Huh?”

“And the reindeer! Don’t forget about the reindeer, Fred.”

“Marvin, have you noticed anything unusual about Henry lately?”

“Well, at his annual review last week, he asked me if he had been naughty or nice. That seemed a little odd.”

The body of a man and the mind of a child provided some good entertainment for the neighbors.

“Susan! Come here and check this out. Henry is building a snow fort in his backyard!”

“Oh, my God, Tom. Yesterday I saw him sledding by himself on the hill at City Park. I think Henry’s lost his marbles. I hope he’s not dangerous. Where are the children?”

Martha bounced around from confused to annoyed to compassionate. The sight of Henry on his knees, leaning into the fireplace and peering up the chimney, touched her heart. They had been together since high school, and now the love of her life, in layman’s terms, had gone woo-woo.

“How in the world does he get down the chimney, Martha? The guy is amazing. And with all those toys!”

 “I’m at wit’s end, Susan. Last night he asked me where his ‘jammies’ were, and this morning he put Hershey’s Syrup on his pancakes. He came home from work wearing a cowboy hat.”

“That is pretty weird, Martha. I’ve heard of the midlife crisis where a man tries to revisit his early years, but it seems like Henry has gone back a little too far. I didn’t want to tell you this, but last week he showed up at our door and asked Tom if he wanted to come out and play.”

Martha suspected it wouldn’t be long before Henry’s behavior went beyond the neighborhood and workplace. The line in front of Santa’s Village at the mall moved slowly, and Henry was growing impatient.

“What are you asking Santa to bring you? I want him to bring me an electric train, one that shoots real smoke out of the engine. My name is Henry. What’s yours?”

Deep within the heavy jacket, stocking cap, and colorful wool scarf, a little boy was struggling to come up with the appropriate response.

“I’m Willie. Uh… are you here to see Santa?”

“You bet. This is my third time. I keep changing my mind. I don’t want to ask for too much. Sometimes it’s better to ask for just one special thing to make sure you get it.”

The image of the 6’2” 195 lb. Henry perched on Santa’s lap will long be remembered by all who witnessed the event. As fate would have it, TV 6 was doing a story on the Christmas shopping rush, and Henry made the six o’clock news- the national news.

“Here’s an interesting story out of Cleveland, Ohio. A 54-year-old man was seen sitting on Santa’s lap at a local mall, apparently telling him what he wanted for Christmas. Our own Jay Larson caught up with the man after his visit with Santa. Jay, what’s the story here? Some kind of a joke, or did the guy lose a bet? America wants to know.”

“Well, Bret, let’s first give our viewers a chance to get the little ones out of the room. Some things are best unsaid in the presence of small children.”

“Good point, Jay... And with that warning, what’s the story here?”

“Apparently, someone’s parents didn’t tell him about the real deal with Santa. I think we may have the first recorded case of a grown man who still believes in Santa. Here’s a clip of my earlier conversation with 54-year-old Mr. Henry Farkel.”

At this point, Martha closed her eyes and covered her ears, Henry beamed with pride, and a gleeful Tom pulled his chair closer to the TV.

“So, Mr. Farkel, how was your visit with Santa?”

“Awesome! Santa is the best person in the whole world. He’s going to bring me an electric train. I love him.”

“That’s great…”

“With an engine that blows real smoke.”

“How nice. So, Mr. Farkel, I have to ask you. Do you still believe in Santa Claus?”

“What do you mean, still?”

“I mean, most people stop believing in Santa when they are six or seven years old.”

“That’s silly. Who do they think brings them their presents? Geez.”

Martha reflexively turned the TV off, put her head in her hands, and moaned softly. Tom and Susan, along with millions of people in their homes, at bars, and in airports throughout the country were laughing hysterically. Life would never be the same for Henry and Martha.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Martha! What’s with that goofy husband of yours? Santa?! Oh, my God. I told you not to marry the guy.”

Martha felt like she was wearing a “Kick Me” sign on her back wherever she went.

“Look, Gladys. Her husband’s the one who still believes in Santa.”

“I saw your husband on TV last night, Martha.”

Enough said. Giggles and smirks everywhere.

 At work, Henry garnered a company record four reprimands in one month- one for sailing paper airplanes across the office, one for putting a fake snake in Nancy Martin’s lunch bag, and two for firing spitballs into Fred’s cubicle. On the homefront, he regularly played Ding-Dong Ditch on Tom and Susan, and short-sheeted his and Martha’s bed to the growing annoyance of his early-to-bed wife. And, of course, the relentless revisions to his Christmas wish list continued.

Martha was reaching her breaking point. No plan of action derived from additional calls to Doctor Barnes, and occasional visits to the 24 Chapel at St. Mary’s yielded no miracle. She tried reasoning with her husband.

“Henry, you have to know that reindeer can’t fly.”

“Oh yeah? Well then how does Santa deliver presents all over the world in one night? You’ve got to think this thing through, Martha.”

 Martha grudgingly understood she was now married to a man with the world view of a six-year-old.

The contrast could not have been greater, the elderly, austere Father Hanley delivering his soul-saving Homily from a lectern with the receiver of a remote-controlled gag-sound machine, set to barnyard chickens, cleverly concealed inside. Henry eagerly awaited the moment.

Bawk, bawk, bawk! Cluck, cluck, cluck! Bawk, bawk, bawk!

Never in the history of gatherings of people had so many tried so hard to contain their laughter, and there had never been a more mortified priest than poor Father Hanley as he struggled to comprehend the moment. After church, Martha expressed her displeasure over the sophomoric stunt.

“That was bad, Henry, really bad. During Mass! You’ve been doing a lot of strange things lately. They have been childish and silly, but not harmful… until today. That was bad, Henry.”

Henry felt like a scolded child… which he was. The last thing Henry would ever want to do would be to hurt Martha.

 Father Hanley immediately suspected Henry was the culprit when he fell out of his pew and rolled around in the aisle in a fit of unrestrained joy. He pulled Martha aside after Mass.

“Martha, I think your husband was the one responsible for that childish and disturbing prank. ”

“Really? What makes you think that, Father?”

“Martha…”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“Martha, a few nights ago, just after dark, I heard laughter coming from the playground. I looked out my window and saw Henry coming down the big slide. Then he went to the swings. 1 Corinthians 13:11, Martha. When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child. But, when I became a man, I put aside the things of a child.’ Please remind Henry that he is now a man.”

“I’ll do that. Sorry, Father.”

But… strange forces were again working their magic. For the first time since the momentous change in Henry’s behavior, Martha felt conflicted. The episode in the church was certainly regrettable, but the thought of Henry flying down the big slide brought a smile. And the swings! On their first date, she and Henry went to the town park and talked for hours while sitting on two swings. That was so long ago, but Martha remembered. The guy was acting like a complete nut-job, but it suddenly occurred to her that Henry seemed… happy, happy as he had ever been.

That night, Martha observed Henry once again planted in front of the mirror. The smile was there, and he seemed peaceful, content, and… happy. Henry returned to the kitchen table where he had been drawing stickmen attacking a castle as Martha reflected on the events of the past few weeks. Santa, all the strange behavior, bringing home the mirror, constantly looking in the mirror… the mirror… the mirror.

It was drawing her in. She walked into Henry’s office and looked at herself in the mirror. It was her, but not her. The years peeled away, and Martha saw a little girl in a red jumper, light brown hair with a yellow ribbon, and a smile she had a hard time remembering. It was the smile of those carefree, fun years of a child. She had seen that smile recently…on Henry. Martha stared at the little girl in the mirror until she could no longer keep her eyes open.

When Henry came home from work the next day, Martha greeted him with a smile… yes, that kind of smile.

“Henry, I made some sandwiches, and I thought we could go over to St. Mary’s for a little picnic. Then maybe we could go down the big slide and sit on the swings and talk for a while. We haven’t done anything like that for a long time, Henry. What do you say?”

“You’re on! And when we get home it will be dark, so we could pull a little Ding-Dong Ditch on Tom and Susan!”

“Hell, why stop there, Henry? Let’s hit the whole neighborhood!”

Henry smiled as he put his arm around Martha. He had just gotten his Christmas present early, the last thing he had asked for from Santa.