Unicorns bear a special place in my heart. When I was in the fourth grade, I read a little short story by James Thurber called 'Unicorn in the Garden.' I was still young enough where sometimes I couldn't differentiate between reality and fantasy, I mean, sure, I knew Road Runner couldn't speed full force into a brick wall, ram his head into his chest, have it pop back out and, then, take on down the road again. But, a unicorn in the garden? Well, it seemed a perfectly possible thing. Or at least I wanted to to be true, because if that could happen to big Mr. Thurber, it very well might happen to little Miss Beej.
I began right then and there to collect unicorns. Lots and lots of them. Unicorns made out of every medium possible. I read books on them, drew them, I even did unicorn needlecraft.
I loved the idea of the unicorn as a symbol of purity. And did you know, if a unicorn is being hunted he will run until he sees a virgin and then he will stop and rest his head in her lap?
And I bet you didn't know that the unicorn saved the doves by letting them ride on his horn while he swam next to the ark. Reportedly, the doves did not have the strength to fly all that way.
ANYWAY, I collected unicorn everything for years and years. Then somewhere in the mid to late 80's, unicorns became THE thing to collect. So I stopped. It made me sad that something I loved so dearly was quickly becoming common place. I packed up all but two or three of my unicorns and there they are today, in various boxes in our storage shed.
When my son gave me this little gift, he said, "Mom, didn't you used to collect unicorns?" I had to smile. And now, I think I'm going to pull out all of my unicorns and display them. But in front of them all will sit this very very special unicorn, given to me by a very very special young man.
