Ian McLoughlin, A Child's Story

by Michael J. Turner

My legs groaned with every lumbering step. As I approached the door, I was reminded of the two hour standing exercises, that, I had endured at the age of six. Standing like a wooden soldier watching Pinky Lee, hoping that the creeping muscle strain would not overtake my balance causing me to crash to the ground like the countless block towers, I constructed. Switching the canes to my right hand, I extend my left hand, twisted the knob and thrust the door open, all with one motion. Five more steps and I could drop into the safety of the overstuffed black leather chair.

As I placed my canes on the right side of the seat, my left hand went to my pocket watch. Four hours earlier, I had stood behind the President as she reactivated the American Disabilities Act, signed some fifteen years earlier by the first President Bush. Not a bad evening for a fifty seven year old man with cerebral palsy. I guided the pocket watch back into my breast pocket as my fingers brushed against the pen. It was an Executive Mont Blanc given to me in recognition of my years of service to the physically challenged by the President after the signing.

Cindi brought in a cup of coffee. It would take my mind off my throbbing legs, just as it had during my first surgery at the age of ten. I told her, I would not be long. She gave me, that, look that said she would not hold her breath. With the coffee half gone, I continued to finger the pen, ignoring my bobbing head and drooping eyes.

Michael John and Kitkat

Sunlight filled the room with variegated ribbons of yellow and blue as I felt a familiar paw brush against my cheek. Kitkat tapped my cheek again, adding a low insistent meow. I rolled to my right side and stroked under her chin, while placing a customary kiss on her muzzle followed by the usual greeting of Good Morning. She nuzzled her face against mine several times, when she suddenly snapped her head and stared intently at the ribbons of light. In a flash, she was off the bed and pawing at the light, as if trying to catch a bird. I giggled and called her back to bed.

The first week of summer vacation was a magical time. The warm air kept my muscles from aching and filled the day with the promise of adventure. It also meant I could wear shorts. That made getting dressed so much easier because I could get completely dressed and then put on my braces. In the winter, the braces would go on first and then, Mom would help me pull the long pants carefully over the shoes and up over the fourteen pounds of steel on both legs. Sometimes she would have to put long zippers on the inside of both legs and gingerly work the zippers down the legs to the shoes. As much as I liked shorts, I resented them as well. Shorts displayed the braces, which brought the unflinching stares of children and adults.

Before going down for breakfast, I went to the toy box under the window. Pushing past cars and trucks, I gathered up my green army men, all I needed was my plane. It wasn’t in the box. I looked everywhere. Finally, I uttered a simply prayer, God, please help me find my plane. There it was. Kitkat must have been playing with it next to the bed. As I picked it up to place in my shirt pocket, my fingers touched a little stick. But, it wasn’t a stick. It was a tiny cane. The staff was made of ash and the top was capped with a little brass ball. I carefully placed this treasure with the plane and followed Kitkat down the stairs to the kitchen.

Ian McLoughlin

Breakfast passed quickly. After all, there was a battle to plan. The army men were pulled from my pockets and divided into sides, which would insure an allied advantage. My favorite plane, a Navy Corsair was placed at the edge of the table, far beyond the range of the big guns of the enemy. The battle raged for an hour, judging by the warmth of the June sun on my back. I retreated to the cooling shade of the pear tree that grew over the septic tank.

The Niche in the Hedge

Between munches of pear, I heard the rhythmic groan of a wheelbarrow. Mr. Sherman owned the tracts of farmland, which surrounded our house. From all outward appearances, he was an old crotchety man, who kept to himself and his land. But, to a six year old, encased in leather and steel, he was an angel, appareled in coveralls and flannel.

The field behind our house was often used to alternately grow corn and asparagus. After playing with my army men and Plastic Ville buildings, stolen from my older brother’s train set, I would spy, Mr. Sherman gathering white asparagus. I would crawl to a gap in the monstrous hedges, behind the pear tree. Once, he was within range, I would call out in my strongest hello. With no reply, the wheelbarrow would creep closer as this ancient man would cut his white crop of spears, sheltered from the June sun under mounds of earth.

Hands encrusted with earth would scoop me up and place me in wheelbarrow, lined with layers of burlap to cushion steel against steel. Even in his seventies, he would treat me like a feather. After his newly acquired cargo was safely secured, he would acknowledge my greeting with, “Want to go for a ride?’ As we moved up and down the furrows, he would speak about each asparagus spear and why it was ready for harvest or remain in its’ protective blanket of earth for a few more days. Mr. Sherman spoke to me, not as a child, but an equal.

A red paisley handkerchief mopped across his brow would signal the end of our journey. But, not before he would look at the land and give glimpses of his past and devotion to the earth. This celebration of life was toasted with the clink of two bottles of Coke, drawn from the deepest coverall pockets. I would be returned to the niche in the hedge, hoping that tomorrow would bring a repeat of today.

I was about to crawl from the gap in the hedge to the house, when my eyes caught a familiar sight. Multicolored streams of light were pouring through the hedge, lighting a path across the field of asparagus.

Within the light, I spied the slightest flutter of small wings breaking the bands of light.

Perched on the fork of the hedge at eye level was a neatly dressed young man, wearing a fitted purple coat, yellow ruffled shirt, brown breeches and deep green pointed boots edged in red. Purple black wings that shone like metal whenever they entered the light were anchored at his back, just below his shoulders. I just stared. “Excuse me”, he said, “May I have it back?” “Are you an angel?” was my reply, breaking the cardinal rule of answering a question with a question. There was a fluttering of wings and a stream of laughter. “Angel? Hardly that my boy, I am Ian McLoughlin, Sentinel Fairy of Saint Paul’s Cathedral, London, attached to the Court of Queen Mab of County Cork, Ireland.”

Up until now, the only fairy I knew was Tinker Bell. “But, fairies are make believe” was my reply. “True for most, but not for all” was Ian’s retort.

The red headed Dandy landed on a closer branch. His red hair and warm smile soon put me at ease. “Listen Lad, you are made in the image of God. That is to say, within you is the spirit of God. He has given you, not only his love, but also a touch of divine imagination. Imagination is what shatters the darkness, divides day from night and puts life throughout the world. He sent his son, so that his vision might become real. If you believe in me, it is not make believe. What you see and shall see is the result of divine imagination. It is a child’s faith.”

Just as I was trying to take in what I was seeing and hearing, Ian asked again, “May I have it back?” “Have what back?” “My walking stick, Lad. I had to fling it at that over zealous cat to keep from being breakfast au jour.” I laughed. “Funny is it? Saint Pat would have done all of the Wee Ones a favor if he had also driven cats from Ireland.” “But, this is America,” I interrupted. “To be sure, to be sure,” Ian replied with a smile and a wink. I reached into my shirt pocket and extended the tiny cane to Ian. “This will make our jaunt a simple jig.”

“What is a jaunt?” I asked. “It is a short walk across the field. See where the ribbons of light have come to rest upon the Lilac grove?”

I nodded to Ian. Ian then went onto explain that Mab, Queen of the Fairies would like me to meet her daughter, Erin. Erin like me needed a brace to walk. She thought that I might lift her spirits. I wasn’t sure how I could help. But, Ian went onto explain. “God does not always answer prayers with miracles. More often then not, he depends on people who believe in him and the example of his son to lighten each other’s burden. God is not the only person who hears prayers; people can too, if they incline their ear to listen. Mab has heard you pray at night. I have too, Lad. We, I mean she has been touched by your determination to be the best that your faith can make ye. Trust your heart and the rest will follow.”

A bit of a jaunt became a rather long walk as braces stepped over row after row of white tips. I didn’t want to damage the field. I mean, how could I explain this to Mr. Sherman and what about Mom?

Why did Ian need that cane for? He flitted about my shoulder the whole trip. Finally, we were at the fragrant Lilac grove. The bees darted from blossom to blossom, sharing the nectar with fairies holding little brown jugs.

I may have only been six years old, but I knew beauty when I saw it. Erin, daughter of Mab was the prettiest woman I had ever seen, fairy or not. She was gently swinging amongst the lilac blossoms with her

reddish brown hair flowing forward and back with every movement of the swing. Her eyes and dress were sky blue. Without a word, she slipped off the swing. Ian flew forward, calling “Wait a minute. I think this might help.” He slipped the tiny cane into her left hand as her right went about Ian’s waist. They were in love. It was then that I noticed the half leg brace on Erin’s right leg.

Erin, Daughter of Queen Mab

Ian and Erin now faced me. “Erin, he said, this is someone I would like you to meet.” She lifted her head from his shoulder and gave me the shyest of smiles. Before I could say a word, Ian turned to Erin and said, “You two get acquainted on the swing. I’ll let Mab know we are here.” Erin and I slipped unto the wooden seat. We began to pump our legs to put the swing in motion. There was a long grinding squeak. Again, we pumped our legs and again a squeaky groan filled the Lilac Grove. Erin could not contain her laughter. She threw her head back and laughed the warmest laugh. I joined the chorus of laughter. “You’re squeaking,” Erin said. “I know; it is the joints of my braces. They are fouled with dirt from crossing Mr. Sherman’s field.” Erin nodded. “Tobias, the Cobbler can make them right. He made my brace after I fell from the back of a Monarch Butterfly.” All I could reply was, “I was born this way.”

Tobias, The Cobbler

Queen Mab of County Cork

The Court of Queen Mab was in a part of the grove were light and fairies danced through the Lilac leaves. She sat on a throne of acorn caps. Ian joined Erin and me on a red velvet couch facing the throne.

“Michael John, do you know why you are here?” Mab’s voice was soft and warm like Erin’s. “Because my cat pawed at Ian” was my reply. Everyone laughed and Ian’s face went red. “No, Michael John. It is because yours is a spirit of faith, determination and courage. You may be young in age, but your spirit humbles all. Have some nectar sweetened tea as you think about what I have said.” I sipped my tea. “The day is growing long. Tell us, why when you are encased in steel, you have a joy in all you do.” When I was sure Queen Mab was finished speaking, I took a deep breath and began to speak.

“I am just a little boy who needs braces to walk. I am just like everyone else. My mom says trust your heart and believe in yourself and God. And when I talk to God, I hear the words…Imagination leads to dreams that give rise to hope. Hope is the foundation of determination and faith.” Queen Mab quietly nodded. Erin squeezed my hand and kissed my cheek. Her cheeks were wet. Without thinking, I cuddled into Erin’s side. The nectar tea and short jaunt made way to sleep.

My eyes opened with the gentle prodding of Tabby’s paw against my cheek. I reached for the half empty cup of cold coffee as Cindi called, “Breakfast.” As I replaced the coffee cup on the table, I saw a scroll of paper tied with red and green ribbons lying next to the Mont Blanc Pen.

I untied the ribbons and unraveled the scroll. A little cane with an ash staff and brass cap fell into my lap. The note is contained below.

“Hi Lad,

If you are reading this, then you still hold divine imagination in your heart. I have enclosed my wee cane. Erin took your words of so long ago to her heart. She thought you would like the cane as a keepsake.

Sincerely,

Ian McLoughlin

P.S. Her brace now hangs in the window of Tobias’ shop.

In case you are wondering Erin and I were married in the Cathedral of St. Paul’s, London.

God’s Speed…

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