The Hidden Child

Chiêu Giang

Goofy faces, colorful costumes, dancing adults, upbeat tune.  Alluring.

“I won’t grow up.  Not me.  Not I.” 

Hmmm, I had not visited Disneyland in over 10 years.  I wondered if the Magic Kingdom still appealed to me - someone who did not send one single Christmas card this year, who spent most of her energy and waking hours working, worrying about student loans, about getting certified, about doing no harm, about measuring up.  I wanted to step inside Sleeping Beauty castle and hear that all too familiar tune, “Someday, my prince will come.”  I wanted the fast and turbulent rides to jolt me back and forth and make my stomach turn.   I wanted to be dazzled by my nieces’ bedazzlement of the colorful and adorable dolls reminding us that it’s a small world, after all.

As I entered Main Street Square, I thought, “How come it seems so much smaller than I remembered it?  How come it looks so fake?”

I went to all the jolting rides with my father and got dizzy afterwards.  My stomach felt weird, and I did not feel so upbeat.  Small World was closed for re-beautification.  By 3:30 p.m., I was curled up on a bench in Mickey’s Toontown, dozing off.  By 5 o’clock, I was ready to go home.

Over all, the day was pleasant because my parents and nieces had fun.  And that always marked a moment, a day, an event, rewarding.

I, meanwhile, discovered-with disappointment that the child inside of me was hidden.

I learned some years ago in Psych7A that there are three persons inside each of us: the child, the adult, and the parent, and that the child is the most important person.

I recalled a new member once shared at a Hạt Cải meeting that if she had one wish, she wished to be a child again.  I thought of Jesus’ words, “Let the children come; to me, and do not prevent them; for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these (Mt19:14).”  I know Jesus’ words hold deeper meanings, and I am no theologian so I won’t attempt interpreting His words here.

I just knew that I wanted my child back, and I didn’t know where to begin finding her.

Two weeks passed.

I was emptying my bag of receipts, bank deposit slips, and errand lists this morning, and I noticed my key chain is all brown, gold, and silver metal.  Boring.  I decided that I’m going to make something colorful, strong, and meaningful to hold the whistle and all of my keys.

I think I heard a stir.  I straightened my back and strained my ears.

For years, I have been church hopping between Holy Spirit, St. John the Baptist, and UCI Interfaith.  Starting this weekend, I’m going to attend mass at a different church each week.  I shall start with the ones that hold Vietnamese masses.  Just to be a part of another community, and perhaps, be able to match the priests’ names with their faces.

There it is again.  The stir is louder, and I head towards it.  Who is there?

If a friend suggests eating out, I’m going to accept and suggest a new restaurant each time.  And I’m going to order something I have not eaten before, even if it’s a vegetarian dish.

The next time my nieces ask me to be a dolphin as they captain the Big Toy at the playground, instead of pretending to be a shark to make them shriek, I will be a dolphin.

The next time someone asks me to dance, I will say yes.

The next time the sun sets in waves of lavender, blue, green, red, pink, orange, and yellow, I will pause to admire the artwork.  Afterwards, I will remember to pay the artist a compliment.

The next time I am afraid to take the next step, I will ask the Lord to hold my hand.

A small figure timidly steps out...