When I was a little girl, I wanted so badly for magic to be real. When other kids were running around playing tag and taking turns down the “orange slide”, my friends and I were pushing the limits of the large playing field imagining when were travelers on an epic quest, performing magic and riding our brilliant horses until the whistle blew to go inside. I’ve always been the sort of person enchanted by something larger than reality, and I think that is mainly due to my love for a well-told story.
Back in the 90s, there wasn’t a lot of fantasy in children’s literature. It was starting to leak in, by Harry Potter wouldn’t come to the States until 1999. We had the old tales of Oz and there was Roald Dahl.
These days, the writings of Roald Dahl are disappearing into the films created from them. Matilda. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. The BFG. These were the tales of my childhood. My childhood was illuminated by little girls with telekinetic powers and a giant who eats snozzcumbers instead of children. These stories let me believe in something grander than my one horse town.
When you’re a kid, it doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor, or if your daddy’s a lawyer or your mama’s a cop – every kid has the right to dream of friendly giants and feel as powerful as Matilda. They can close their eyes and pretend they live inside a giant peach with friendly insects… they can feel like the champion of the world.
So thank you, Roald Dahl, for bringing my childhood the exact brand of magic it needed.
“Giant.” – Daily Post Prompt