My son, who will start middle school this year, still believes in Mickey Mouse. During a recent trip to Disneyland I fully expected him to exhibit general disinterest in the more magical aspects of the Magic Kingdom, but his wide-eyed excitement upon seeing the smiling, world-famous rodent was clearly genuine. Imagine my surprise when he cut in line with his little sister to take his turn at a photo op. I didn’t have the heart to tell him what my seven-year old has been trying to explain for the past two years: Mickey really is just a guy in a suit.
Let me backtrack a bit by saying that my son has not been sheltered or excessively babied, nor is he behind the curve when it comes to being socially savvy. At eleven he’s a text-book tween with his peach fuzz and mood swings, a fascination with cell phones, and musical tastes that run from vintage Beatles to Coldplay. Yet, he continues to cling to a symbol of childhood innocence that is at once sweet and silly. I mean, as good as the Disney costumes are, Mickey, Buzz, Woody and Pluto et al are clearly not real.
Which brings me to my dilemma. There’s a parental crossroads we all arrive at when our children no longer believe everything we tell them. It’s healthy and normal and signifies their transition into becoming autonomous individuals. And while I haven’t researched this, I believe the shift begins when they first learn you’ve sold them a bill of goods regarding the tooth fairy, Easter bunny, Santa and Mickey. Because if mommy lied about those things, what else is she making up?
I realize that not fessing up to these fibs is only delaying the inevitable. But I rationalize that my kids have the rest of their lives to live in the real world. Is it wrong to let Puff the Magic Dragon have one final romp with his little boy before adolescence banishes him to his cave forever?
My son told his friends at summer camp about his trip to Disneyland, and I’m not sure how the subject came up, but someone mentioned that they’d actually seen the guy who wears the Mickey costume remove his head piece. My son remained poker faced during the exchange, but it was his first topic of conversation when I picked him up. And (I’m not proud here) like the Grinch, I thought up a lie and I thought it up quick: I told him Mickey has body doubles, just like Harrison Ford in Indiana Jones. It helps him be in two places at once and keeps him from getting hurt during stunt scenes in Fantasmic, I explained.
Silence ensued. We stared at each other while he digested this whopper. Looking into his eyes I suddenly realized that I was the one who’d been fooled. My son knew the truth about Mickey – and has probably known for quite a while. But like the tattered blanket he sometimes still sleeps with, I think he finds comfort in holding onto a belief that connects him to simpler time. It’s also just like him to avoid hurting my feelings by admitting he’s outgrown the mighty mouse. He changed the subject quickly to more pressing issues, like the limits on his texting plan.
As for me, I’m grateful that for now he’s letting me play pretend, so I can savor the magic of his childhood just a little bit longer.