There are two things that are pretty constant in my life: I don't like message T's and I don't cry easily.

The message t thing started when I noticed shirts for my girls that said things like, "I'm Mom's favorite," or "Diva in training." I was shocked that such messages were available for little girls, and that people were buying them! So I decided that my kids just wouldn't wear words (unless the words are in French and are still age-appropriate. Daisy just ruined a shirt that read "je t'aime" and I am still devastated about it) and especially logos. My sister Grace thinks I'm a prude and she's probably right, to some degree. But I saw a shirt on a woman the other day that said, "I probably wouldn't like you either" and that reinforced my stand. Can you imagine inviting people to judge you that decidedly? Maybe she's a really nice person... but I'm not sticking around to find out.

The not crying thing has bothered me for years. It takes an awful lot for me to let my tears spill over; they're there, but I just don't let them out. The bother comes from wondering what other people must think of me, that age-old worry that has plagued me most of my life. It is especially an issue in church, where there is almost an expectation that your degree of spirituality is determined by the amount of emotion you show. I know better than to worry that anybody cares about whether I'm crying, but it's an issue.

These two weird things about me collided a few months ago when I was shopping online and came across a t-shirt that made me actually cry. It wasn't fancy or poetic. The shirt read simply:
I believe in fairies.

Years ago, my family went to see a production of "Peter Pan," the musical in which the title role is played by a woman. I don't remember it being a particularly outstanding production. In fact, I remember that Peter Pan had laryngitis. But the climax of the play comes when Tinkerbell, who has swallowed poison to save Peter, lays dying. Peter Pan implores the audience, "Clap if you believe in fairies" to save Tink. As she said this, and before the audience began their obligatory applause, a little voice shouted out with all the sincerity and intensity a child could muster, "I believe in fairies!" There was just a tiny moment when everything was still. All action on the stage froze as theater and life merged. I cried. So did my mom and my sisters. Remembering it makes the tears come behind my eyes again. Crying in the theater is not a new thing to me. It is the one place where I can weep openly and not care. The first time I cried in the theater, I was in fifth grade watching a production of "Our Town." I still remember the shock of having such a physical reaction to something on stage. But in high school, there was "Saint Joan" and "Shadowlands," in which I was so emotional the actors gave me strange looks. In college, "Man of La Mancha" got me, and I had to seriously hold back at the end of "Fiddler on the Roof" because I was on a first date. I went back to see it again the next week so I could cry freely. I even cried at the end of "My Fair Lady," which doesn't make sense even to me.

Yes, I bought the shirt. I like it better than Daisy, I think. And every time she wears it I feel the need to explain to anyone who comments that I really don't like shirts with words on them, but this was a literary reference. And no, I don't have a picture of the shirt. But here's one that captures the same kind of moment that I had in the theater that day: