Dancing Leprechauns

When Ruby was five, she went to ballet on St. Patricks's Day. After class, she came to the car sobbing like her tender little heart was breaking. She told me that everyone in the class found a leprechaun except her. She was crying so hard I could barely understand her. She said she just couldn't see any leprechauns and everyone else got one and she didn't. I didn't know what she meant by leprechaun. Was it candy? No. A picture? No! Ruby was so distraught, I finally I went inside to ask the teacher for clues. I explained that Ruby was upset that she didn't find any leprechauns. Her wonderful teacher jumped up, her smile lighting her face, brighter and more beautiful than any rainbow. She said in a low, conspiratorial voice, so the other dancers wouldn't overhear, "You know what? They were imaginary!"  In class, the little girls had been instructed to go on a hunt for them, then danced jigs with the creatures on their shoulders.

The teacher held out her carefully cupped hands to me and said, "Here, take this one and tell Ruby I'm sorry." The genius of it! To offer a mere adult a real-live-imaginary leprechaun, trusting in me to join in the game, and trusting this playfulness to make everything right.

I held out my own cupped hands and took the "leprechaun" from the teacher. I walked to the car, cradling the leprechaun, even opening the car door with my thumb so I wouldn't drop him. Never once did I feel silly, just grateful that I could give Ruby a gift, even an imaginary one, that would make everything all better. It worked! Ruby's bright smile returned as she carefully took "Leppy" from my hands. I explained that he was invisible and imaginary and she got it. Her imagination took over, pushing aside her need to know all the facts and to do everything just right.   She took Leppy to school, shared her snacks with him, made him a bed, carried him in her hands or on her shoulder. She even thought she had left him in her cubby at kindergarten. She started to get upset, until I spotted him hanging on one of her backpack straps. Phew!

This is the magic of St. Patrick's Day and childhood in general. I hope Ruby's creative mind always has room for the invisible and the imaginary, the secret world of possibilities that a good teacher can show you, but that you must enter into yourself.  That's where the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow is found.