There is much speculation in these parts regarding the comings and goings of leprechauns. “How do they fit under the door?” Mateo wants to know. “Do they swim all the way from Ireland?” Olivia has a classmate who swears she saw something green scooting out from the restroom yesterday. At recess, Olivia went to look for herself, and was disappointed when she came up empty-handed.

Like many children, ours believe in Santa Claus, the tooth fairy, the Easter Bunny, and, yes, little green men who speak with a brogue and wear pointed shoes. My husband and I encourage these fantasies: they’re the stuff of childhood magic. What kind of world would it be without reindeer that fly, fairies that fit through keyholes, fluffy rabbits that leave eggs filled with candy? A dreary one, indeed.

Then why do I feel uneasy as I spin longer and more convoluted yarns about the activities of leprechauns? Even as I tell Mateo, “It’s the pot of gold he’s after. Let’s set a trap with this paper cup,” I squirm at my own dishonesty. What happens when Mateo discovers I’ve been lying? That the little green man, the pot of gold, the rainbow–all of it is total fabrication? Will he question the validity of everything else I tell him? Where will he draw the line? (more…)

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