Do You Believe In Magic?

As a young child, I had a way of "acquiring" tasty snacks or other useful items from the family kitchen. It was a habit begun very young: One of my baby/toddler pictures features me – front and center – in a pose very familiar to my parents. Standing to my full height of less than two feet, I am pulled up to the edge of an open kitchen drawer, rooting through the contents with intense concentration. Even then, I understood that anything worth having was undoubtedly hidden away.

Fast-forward a number of years, and I had reached an age at which it was my duty to take my younger brother under my wing to show him the ways of the world. These ways included a comprehensive tutorial of desirable things to eat, and how to acquire them. Unfortunately, my common sense of preservation dictated that I could not reveal the true nature of my owner status – which, essentially, consisted of slipping select items out of the kitchen drawers and/or cabinets and relocating them to my room and/or pockets.

I might have been a touch sneaky, but I was not greedy. [In my defense, once I aged a bit more and realized that what I was doing actually fell into the category of "absolutely forbidden according to one of the very-well-known Ten Commandments" I did cease the habit of absconding with the family groceries.] Much of the joy that I derived from my carefully secured spoils was found in the appreciation and wonder in the eyes of my little brother.

Ah… the younger sibling. Mine was particularly delightful at that age, primarily because he was so incredibly trusting and naïve. He never doubted a word that I told him. On the contrary, he became an ambassador for me in my absence.

"Don’t touch that rock!" He would exclaim loudly to my parents as they strolled through the yard. "That rock is Kresha’s!"

A few steps later, the parental units would once again require reprimanding. "Don’t touch that plant – that’s Kresha’s plant!"

By the end of the walk, my brother would have done a superb job of planting the symbolic flag of my ownership over nearly every item on the property. He was a loyal sidekick, and I rewarded him in the best way that I could imagine – by sharing with him the pleasures of the carefully gathered foodstuffs.

We had a good thing going, but – like so many things – it was destined to come to an end. Being an intelligent child, I had determined that the best way to present my stolen delights was under the guise of "magic."

"Watch what I can do!" I would boast, before pulling a pack of gum out of my pocket, or a cookie from my sleeve.

"Wow…." My brother would gaze, in awe, from the treat to me, and back again.

One summer day, I had – with considerable aplomb – produced a supreme treat: A package of grape kool-aid. Such a treasure was hard to come by, and I was anticipating the consumption of it with unparalleled excitement. Just as I prepared to indulge, I heard an alarming question coming from another room. Even more alarming was the fact that the voice asking it was my mother’s. "What" the voice questioned, "Are you two doing?"

This was a dangerous moment. Would my young, innocent brother have any idea of what to do here? Undoubtedly not. Stomach sinking, I heard his jubilant response. "Mom!" he exclaimed, with glee, "Kresha can do MAGIC! She made kool-aid appear out of AIR!"

As I ran, feet keeping the pace of a world-class sprinter, I could hear my mother’s voice – far away - yelling my name.