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  • Sara Moore

Abracadabra

Last night I couldn't sleep, and this memory of my childhood popped into my head.  For most of my elementary school years, I would lie in bed and stare at the hinges of my open door.  I was SURE they moved up and down the frame, waiting for me to look away or blink and then scootching a little bit higher or lower.  I would try to remember exactly where they were when I'd get into bed, then stare at them, almost daring them to move without me seeing them.  I would do the same thing at church.  I didn't listen to the words.  Instead, I'd stare at the huge statue of Jesus on the cross and try to remember which side had the stab wound the week prior.  I was pretty convinced that was messing with me, too. 

The strange part is it wasn't scary for me. With the door hinges I thought I could move them with my mind.  That would have been cool and it gave me some power over the situation.  I could almost WILL them to move.  I'm pretty sure it never happened...  But it kept my young mind busy as I wondered what everyone who got to stay up was doing.

Then when I was in second or third grade, I was supposed to be asleep.  My brother was out cold down the hall and my parents were downstairs with the TV on.  I was doing magic.  Yup I was.  I had rolled a pencil in a piece of paper.  I'd count:  One, two, THREE! Abracadabra!  And the pencil was supposed to disappear.  Just like it did for my dad.  I had full faith that I was going to master this trick and I had all night to figure it out.  Then, suddenly, it worked!  I'm serious.  One, two, three and abracadabra!  I had been holding the paper like a wand, waving it down toward my open palm on the abracadabra and this time the paper was empty and the pencil had vanished.  I was so excited to realize I could actually make things disappear that I ran downstairs to tell my parents. 

They were not impressed.  In fact, I got in trouble for being awake and was sent right back upstairs.  How could they not be dazzled by my crazy skills?  It was too much for my little brain to process.  The next day my dad and I were sitting on the front steps waiting for the bus.  He said, "Hey Babes.  I have a trick for you."  Ya right, I thought.  Not nearly as good as mine...  But he counted to three and pulled my pencil from my ear.  It was the exact one that I had made vanish, and I knew that it was because it was what I'd call a "fancy" pencil with beautiful pink and purple swirls on it.  What. The. Hell.  My dad was a better magician than me!!!! 

I'm smiling as I write this.  My point is that when we're younger or unbiased we believe so much in what we're capable of.  It's not until we are told otherwise that we begin to question our own strength.  Years later I was telling my dad how when I was little I really did make that pencil disappear.  He laughed his ass off telling me that in reality when I held the "wand" up to the ceiling, the pencil flew out the top of it, over my shoulder and he found it beside my bed the next morning.  Well I'll be.  I'm not magical at all! 

You know what I am still capable of?  Believing in more that what I know I am capable of.  Does that make any sense?  I KNOW that I can do more than I realize in this lifetime.  And beyond!  I know that I have a strong sense of self that is part of my soul, and that is something that I won't just give away or let anyone take from me.   I do believe that I am capable of great things.  And sometimes, those great things start when you're alone in your room flinging pencils. 

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