when is a pencil not a pencil?

My second son, all four years of him, was inconsolable this morning. He’d stumbled downstairs into the kitchen, bleary eyed, to find his magic stick turned, by some kind of sadistic wizardry, into a pencil.

But it’s a pencil! My oldest son said, incriminating sharpener in hand. A pile of efficiently sharpened shavings lay on the bench, mingling with my youngest’s tears. It’s a pencil, love, I said too, less reproachfully than my oldest. That’s what it is. A pencil.

IT’S NOT A PENCIL. IT’S A MAGIC STICK. He replied.

When is a pencil not a pencil?

When it’s a magic stick.

Of course it’s a magic stick.

It can be confusing, navigating the fine distinctions between make believe and real. In our household, for example, Santa Claus is real but the tooth fairy isn’t. That’s just the way it is.

And what about night terrors?

The roll call of ghosts, ghasts, ghouls and zombies that enthral children and adults alike are obviously made up. Of course they are. Not to be believed. But the creatures that populate my children’s nightmares are real enough to inspire terror.

Imaginations need to soar, as surely as gravity brings earthlings down. A wardrobe could house a monster or transport you to Narnia.

A rabbit hole could lead to all kinds of trouble and unexpected delight.

It is no wonder that childrens’ literature is full of such thresholds, leading away from the boringly empirical.

If a pencil was just a pencil, I’d have to eat my words.