This is my favorite story about my nephew, Ronan, who is 5 years old.
He has this theory that only Santa Claus or some other magical creature can go to heaven and visit people, and he frequently mentions that Santa has gone to heaven to visit his grandmother (my mom), as well as my dog Rebel, who died a month before she did.
One day, I had picked him up from kindergarten and we were hanging out at my house for a while. He announced that in addition to Santa, "A magical airplane could fly to heaven."
I agreed that it was so.
"Also," he said, "a magical helicopter."
"Yes," I said. "Or a magical bird!"
He gave me a look of pure disgust. I believe he actually rolled his eyes. "There's no such thing as a magical bird, Auntie Christie," he said, moving me several ranks down in his estimation of my intelligence and credibility.
I guess you gotta draw the line somewhere.
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