My Son, the Unicorn

“I’m a unicorn that lives on a horse farm. All the horses don’t like me because I’m a special horse. None of the other horses look like me because I’m a special horse.”

I only noticed their dialogue mid-conversation. My daughter and son were playing a make-believe game and choosing their characters. My daughter, the rule maker—always wanting to be in charge—replied to her brother’s definite stance:

“No, you have to be a horse.”

My son made it clear that he wasn’t interested in the game if he wasn’t allowed to be a unicorn. After a few more definitive rules of the game, he finally acquiesced.

“Okay, but I’m a special horse because I’m a white horse and all the other horses are brown.”

At that, my horse-children galloped on all fours off to some meadow in the distance (a.k.a. the living room) and I didn’t catch any more of the conversation.

My son has had an interest in unicorns for some time. A few months ago, when discussing the matter with his cousin—who was trying to gently explain to him that there was no such thing as unicorns—my son sounded like a teacher patiently trying to help a student grasp a concept.

“Yes, there are unicorns. They don’t live on earth anymore but they live in Heaven.”

The two children finally realized they agreed on the fact that there are no unicorns on earth and left it at that.

My children have always expressed an interest in Heaven. When my son was three, I remember him asking me if fish go to heaven. My daughter, when she was roughly the same age, said that she had a sister in heaven.

Heaven, a place of wonder and beauty, a place of color and life, a place so beyond the scope of the imagination that it has been written: “Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, neither has it entered the heart of men the things God has prepared for them that love Him.”

A family for those who have none. Friends for those who passed through life without a close companion. Mansions for the homeless and poor. Eternal peace and joy for those who suffer and cry. And yes, a unicorn of rainbow colors for a child who never stopped believing that they exist, even if they can’t be seen on Earth.

The faith of a little child.

“Only the pure in heart can see a unicorn.” – Ancient legend

Serendipity

There is a series of books that I loved reading when I was little.

It may sound funny, but I enjoy reading them even more as an adult, after rediscovering a few of them recently.

I remember, as a child, reading about a little creature who bossed everyone around until no one wanted to play with her. She finally realized why she had so few friends and changed her tune. The story was crabby gabby.

Another story, that might have even made me cry when I first read it, was about a bear and a rabbit meeting in the forest. They became best of friends, until their parents found out. The rabbit parents told the bunny that bears were nothing but trouble. The bear family told their little cub the same about rabbits. They knew, though, that it wasn’t true, not about their friends, although they listened to their parents and didn’t see each other again. The story was called buttermilk bear.

I recently rediscovered a few of the books:

Flutterby, about a tiny Pegasus who finally learns to be just who she is.

Rhubarb, a farm puppy who helps the other animals learn the real meaning of friendship.

The series is called Serendipity, a word I’ve always loved, even when I didn’t understand the meaning of it.

Each book (and there are over 50) has a moral, such as sharing, friendship, and faith. Written by Stephen Cosgrove and beautifully illustrated by Robin James, the books have been around since the ’70s and ’80s.

I would recommend this series of books for parents of young children. If you’re looking for fun books with great pictures, a simple read, and something that provides children with positive solutions to difficult problems, the Serendipity books are a great option.

You might even enjoy them as much as your children…or sneak into their room and borrow the books from time to time, pretending to be a child again, if only for a moment.