Yesterday was my favorite day of the year at our preschool. There's this tradition there that is utterly charming, adorable, sweet, and just a tiny bit creepy: the Sabot Dragon. Every year when the buttercups bloom in the meadow next to the school, the children know (as the older ones pass the legend down to the younger ones) that the Sabot Dragon will visit soon. The dragon is a shy creature who loves children, but is a little afraid of them (I feel ya, Dragon), so when she first visits, she only peeks at them from around a corner or from behind a tree. If the children are very still and sing quietly to her, she might come closer the next time, and the next time. And if they show her just how gentle they can be, she will finally come alllllll the way up to the playground and bring a basket of strawberries with her, to share.
Once the dragon arrives on the playground, she reveals that she is really one of the teachers in a costume! The older children know this secret from past experience and have usually tried to get a look at the dragon's shoes whenever she appears, comparing those shoes to the shoes of teachers, noticing which teachers are suspiciously missing when the dragon comes around, and speculating as to which teacher will be inside the costume on the day when the dragon brings the strawberries.
I adore this tradition. I love the fantasy of it, the way the younger children juggle their combination of fascination and fear, the way the experienced children exercise their logic, the pictures and tales conjured up every year that give a back story to this mysterious character. I like the way nobody actually lies to the children - nobody is trying to persuade the children that the dragon is real - but at the same time, they give the kids space to figure out what the kids themselves think. Here's a mysterious happening. What can we figure out about it?
The dragon brought her strawberries yesterday and Reese, who still isn't quite sure he likes the hubbub of her arrival, decided not to partake in the festivities. The previous day, though, he felt brave enough to go to the fence with the other children (with the support of a loving teacher) and take a peek at her dancing in the meadow.
Two years ago, Griff and his peers diligently tracked the dragon after each appearance, looking for clues. They found sparkly bits that she left behind - lace, sequins, beads - and pocketed them to take home, evidence and talisman in one. I put Griff's sparkly dragon treasures in a vase and put it on our mantel; now they live in our studio, bringing a little inspiration with them.
This combination of truth and imagination, fear and wonder, is exactly the mixture that delights me most. It's also the mixture that made the Wrinkle in Time books so compelling to me as a 10-year-old. Every time I look at the vase, I think, fewmets, and remember:
"He's going to where my dragons were! Come on, Meg, maybe he's found fewmets!"
She hurried after boy and dog. "How would you know a dragon dropping? Fewmets probably look like bigger and better cow pies."
Charles Wallace was down on his hands and knees. "Look."
On the moss around the rock was a small drift of feathers. They did not look like bird feathers. They were extraordinarily soft and sparkling at the same time; and between the feathers were bits of glinting silver-gold, leaf-shaped scales which, Meg thought, might well belong to dragons.
"You see, Meg! They were here! My dragons were here!"
- Madeline L'Engle, A Wind in the Door