The other night, G/Son, his 'rents, and I were eating at our favorite Mexican restaurant and the 'rents were saying that maybe they'd come over to Nonna's neighborhood, this year, for trick-or-treating, since their neighborhood doesn't take trick-or-treating too seriously, not having many kids. And I said that would be great; they could come over before Nonna and all her friends began their ritual. I said, "We all dress up like Witches, because we are."
G/Son, who loves his Nonna and thinks she's a nice old lady who will buy him the Star Wars toys that he wants and play make-believe games with him and let him stay up eating Cheerios and watching movies, said, "No, you're not Witches." He knows that I've told him that I am a Witch, but he's at a stage where he doesn't want it to be true. It confuses him.
I said, "Yes, we are. We are good Witches, who honor the Earth. Like Glinda, the good Witch, remember her?"
G/Son said, "Yes, but she was just a Witch because she had a magic wand that worked."
We're going to have to have a longer talk about this soon, but I think we need to have it on a walk, outside.
I'd give almost everything I've got not to make his life complicated. But he's a smart kid; he's going to be able to understand this. Please.
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."