I'd like to introduce you to a member of our family that you've probably never heard of. In our house birthdays are a big deal. And every holiday deserves it's own superhero, right? So, Derrell made up Hairy Larry the Birthday Fairy. The kids suspect that he's really dad, but we'll never tell. In fact, every so often, seemingly out of the blue, one of the children asks, "Are you Hairy Larry, Dad?", just to make sure.
Larry isn't your typical fairy. He doesn't fly, and his wings are just strapped on with twine and duct tape. He's got the tights like all good superheroes. And like cupid, he wears a diaper--over the tights. He's a little dirty because he's homeless. He figures that with so many birthdays at which he needs to appear, it doesn't make sense to have a place of his own. But also like all other superheroes, he creeps in at night and produces some kind of gift eliciting questions of the source. He never signs his name. You know that gift you forgot you gave to your cousin? You never actually gave it. Larry just signed your name...
Larry is an outgrowth from a dinner conversation. The chatter at our table is sometimes more funny than comedy central. The kids still ask Derrell specific details about our special fairy. Good thing he has a great imagination! Unfortunately, the kids' memory is better than his, and he is left to improvise and he changes details. The kids call him on the carpet when the stories don't match, and Derrell explains something about "style" and superhero prerogative--kind of like artistic license.
The children find Larry the most frightening of all celebratory myths, but also the most entertaining. We like him.
Larry isn't your typical fairy. He doesn't fly, and his wings are just strapped on with twine and duct tape. He's got the tights like all good superheroes. And like cupid, he wears a diaper--over the tights. He's a little dirty because he's homeless. He figures that with so many birthdays at which he needs to appear, it doesn't make sense to have a place of his own. But also like all other superheroes, he creeps in at night and produces some kind of gift eliciting questions of the source. He never signs his name. You know that gift you forgot you gave to your cousin? You never actually gave it. Larry just signed your name...
Larry is an outgrowth from a dinner conversation. The chatter at our table is sometimes more funny than comedy central. The kids still ask Derrell specific details about our special fairy. Good thing he has a great imagination! Unfortunately, the kids' memory is better than his, and he is left to improvise and he changes details. The kids call him on the carpet when the stories don't match, and Derrell explains something about "style" and superhero prerogative--kind of like artistic license.
The children find Larry the most frightening of all celebratory myths, but also the most entertaining. We like him.
