The Truth (part 1)
Babies are infused with magic, of that I’m certain. Their ability to cast a spell over the people around them is the only way to explain their survival when you consider the unpleasant reality of having one (exploding nappies, vomit and ear-splitting screaming are just a few examples). Their often visible delight in the wonder of the world around them too - ‘I was hungry and food appeared!’ - can lead us, the parents, to go to increasingly extreme lengths to keep the magic alive as they get older. I know I have.
With the first wobble of a milk tooth my son was introduced to the mystery of the tooth fairy, and for nearly 20 years I’ve helped a succession of the little creatures fly in and our of our various houses to take my children’s teeth. What started as a simple idea has, over time, become infinitely more complex as the children have passed on their experiences to their younger siblings, thereby raising expectations. After my son’s first tooth was spirited away and replaced with a coin, his curiosity led to him write a letter to leave with the second tooth. There was, of course, a reply which then led to an ongoing correspondence. The tooth fairy has on occasion failed to collect a tooth in a timely manner, but in his (yes, my son’s fairy was apparently a boy) defence there was always a great reason and he’s always left a tiny note to explain. There was the time we got a puppy and the tooth fairy, whose name I can’t share for reasons of fairy confidentiality, hid behind the sofa all night because he was scared of being eaten. Then there was the time a tooth came out so suddenly that the tooth fairy didn’t get the message until the following day. The best story however is one my son has never been told; the story of the tooth the fairy lost.
We were staying with my parents one Summer when the wobbly tooth fell out. It was carefully placed under his pillow but when the fairy went to collect it, it had vanished! The tooth fairy searched as thoroughly as it was possible to do in the dark without waking my son and his little sister, but it was nowhere to be found, so a coin was left with a tiny letter explaining that it had been dropped somewhere and if found should be put back under the pillow for collection that evening. The next morning the tooth fairy was awake before the children so decided to have another hunt around and miraculously the tooth was found - it had slipped off the mattress. Another minute note was hastily written but as it was being popped under the pillow both children started to stir; terrified of being caught in the act, the fairy flew out of the room and threw the tooth on top of a nearby wardrobe. I can only imagine my parents surprise a few months later when they were packing up to move house and discovered the tooth and note on top of their wardrobe.
My son’s correspondence with his tooth fairy came to an abrupt end when he was 11. He had so completely engaged with the magic that he wanted to share it with his friends and decided to take a letter to school. The first I knew about his plan was when I went to pick him up; I knew immediately that something wasn’t right and when I asked about his day all he said was “we need to talk”. He refused to speak in the car on the way home, but once his sisters were safely out of earshot he flew at me. “You should have told me!” he cried. When I asked what he meant, he said “You know. You should have told me the tooth fairy wasn’t real.” Unlike my son who still had a few milk teeth to lose, most of his friends had already lost all theirs and were only too happy to dispel the myth. After a few carefully chosen words about the magic of believing (we weren’t ready to kill off Santa and the Easter Bunny so had to rebuild his faith) the fragile fabric of my deception was patched up. At 12 he went to boarding school still loosely believing and I remember having a conversation with his house master about it; I was assured it would be handled and sure enough it was…
…I watched over a video call as my son fiercely wobbled his last remaining milk tooth until it fell out. The next day he phoned to tell me that he now knew the truth. His housemaster had walked into his dorm the previous evening and wandered aimlessly about making small talk with the boys before making a bee-line for my sons bed, lifting the pillow and replacing his tooth with a coin. While my son was watching. Blunt but effective.
At 10 my youngest daughter still has a few teeth, and therefore notes, to go. Not only is she a light sleeper, she’s much more astute than her siblings and is starting to ask her fairy some tough questions. I’m not ready to rip that plaster off yet but when I am, I wonder if I could send her to boarding school for a term or two instead!