Tinkerbell's Flight

On many evenings past it has been my husband's job to "catch Tinkerbell" as she makes her nightly flight from the spire high on Cinderella’s castle. In addition to her new role in Enchantment, he was also in that position on the evening of her final appearance in the much-beloved "Happily Ever After" as the show ran for its last time. Although I'm not sure he always sees it, I feel it is a poignant role of honor for him to play and one which holds deep significance for us.

Many years ago, while hosting a wish family (a family where one of the parents is terminally ill), my husband was doing the same job as he was for the final show of HEA, a job now returned to him in random moments of fate and the strange displacement of the pandemic.

Standing with the family in the shadow of the castle awaiting the moment of Tinkerbell's flight, their young boy began asking me questions about the logistics of the whole deal, quite intrigued. His younger sister stood patiently at my side silently pondering her own question. She eventually reached up and tugged gently at the hem of my shorts. I knelt down to give her my full attention. Shyly, as if her brother might find her question silly, she whispered to me, "Miss Holly? What does she feel like?" I paused for a moment a bit thrown by the question. I'm sure the confusion on my face was apparent. The girl raised the palm of her hand up to clarify. "In his hand. What does she feel like in his hand when he catches her?"

In that moment I realized I was suddenly walking the fine line between the very human woman that her brother understood was about to emerge from that castle window and the very real magic and childlike wonder of a tiny fairy for a small girl who still believed.

Sometimes as adults encumbered by reality, we lose sight of the real magic; both that which we can create and that which already exists in the world locked inside the innocence of a child. In the empty palm of her tiny hand, I was pulled immediately back to the place our souls truly thrive; deep in the magic of a world that exists in our fantasy.

How does one reply to a child in words that embrace her fairytale reality when your voice is burdened with the brick wall of your adulthood? I uttered simply yet awkwardly, "Well, I'm not really sure! We will ask have to ask Jym."

I stood back up, holding her tiny hand in mine, as tears streamed quietly down my face at the tiny glimpse of remembrance of what it felt like to be that young; to long for some elusive return to that innocence which we can now only view in stolen moments as if thru the thick glass of a picture window.

At that moment the castle lit up, the music lifted and Tinkerbell waving her wand above the awaiting crowd, flew from high on the castle spire to my husband's waiting hand.

After the show, I passed along her question to my husband who, despite being a grown adult, still has the rare power to see life almost instantly through the eyes of a child. He replied simply and without hesitation, "She feels like a firefly. She makes my palm tingle when she lands in my hand to rest. She is like a tiny spark."

On the final night of “Happily Ever After” I was not in the park, but my wish to my husband and the entire Disney team, was to make that kind of magic, the kind that encourages children to believe and adults to remember. On that precious night, and always. For all those who awaited below and looked to the sky for the farewell to that chapter, who mourned the end and simultaneously looked to the future with hope. On that night their collective hands helped to close the final chapter of a beautiful book and the next day they worked to open the first page of a brand new one as we ushered in the age of "Enchantment".

For every night that anxious guests wait below for the flight of Tinkerbell, I hope that the legacy of Walt Disney inspires those tasked with making the magic. For those filled with nothing but wonder and those who long for its tiny glimpses in the music and lights. Shower them all with the gentle rain of pixie dust in those final moments. Listen to their cheers and joy rising up from the crowd. Seek that split-second moment, like the stroke of midnight, when everyone in that park becomes a child once again. That is the real magic of Disney and it is still there and will be for as long as there are those who seek it and those who aspire to create it.