These Things I Believed

Am I too old to see the fairies dance?

I cannot find them anymore.

–Langston Hughes, from “After Many Springs”

That the light would last forever.

That a silent abracadabra was the appropriate blessing to be conferred on even the grayest new morning.

That a dog was both a lantern and a life preserver.

That a man could escape from the belly of a whale, even without the help of a dog, a lantern, or a life preserver.

That John Wayne wore his pants pulled up too far for my taste.

That a good baseball mitt was as beautiful an object of pure design as anything ever produced by an Italian.

That baseball was one of the few things in America that made perfect sense.

That a dream deferred accrued interest.

That a goat was a more worthy subject for a tale than a donkey.

That a starving man could live on laughter and conversation.

That a green chair was enchanted.

That Nick Lowe was the most underrated artist in all of rock.

That Roddy Frame was a close second.

That there was always a fish at the other end of the line.

That there was a bobber at the bottom of my throat.

That a man could be the ringmaster, walk the high wire, and both be and tame the lion.

That oblivion was a worthwhile destination.

That hamburgers could be grown in a garden.

That beetles were among the planet’s most spectacular creations.

That impostors almost always wear the crown.

That the spirit of the living creatures was in the wheels

That a year in the attendant’s booth of a parking ramp provided a better and more sensible education than Plato’s Academy.

That a heart could not live by breaking.

That desire could cripple a man.

That soup was the perfect food.

That a fingerprint doesn’t prove a fucking thing.

That Wayne Shorter was the most underrated artist in all of jazz.

That Freddie Hubbard was a close second.

That questions had answers.

That one could persist in asking questions, and survive the answers.

That all the moral blather in the world could be boiled down to two words: be careful.

That Sweet’s Desolation Boulevard was a more consistently entertaining record than anything released in 2006.

That a meager body and feeble hands could save a life, could cradle a heart and keep it safe, and could communicate things the mind and mouth could never find the words to say.

That a heretic could speak the truth.

That a parrot could –and should– be taught to recite poetry.

That Funny Bones was one of the top ten movies ever made.

That a man’s soul could survive the wrecking ball.

That if you taught a woman to dance you could kiss her goodbye.

That on a dark night and the right road, Little Willie John could tear out your spleen.

That George Herriman’s Krazy Kat was as inspired as anything in literature.

That the Gilligan’s Island musical Hamlet was better than Hamlet.

That a closet full of suede Pumas was the mark of a stylish man.

That you should never stop expecting people to surprise you.

That all the big, ridiculous things were possible, were tangible, were true.

That there was magic in human hands.

That some form of magic was always at hand.

That this was a world without end.

I was right about some of those things, maybe even most of them.

Go ahead and tell me I wasn’t and see where it’ll get you.