THE PRINCE AND THE PRINCESS
By,
Roger Dean Kiser

 “Is that your Princess dress?” I asked my three-year-old granddaughter as she walked out of her bedroom dragging the dress behind her.

“Yes,” she softly answered with a smile.

“And just where is your magic wand with the star on it?”

“You got to make one for me,” she replied.

This warm feeling comes over me when she does such things and a smile appears on my face. However, within seconds a feeling of sadness always over-shadows that wonderful feeling. I look at her innocence and I wonder how, and why, no one at the Children’s Home Orphanage where I was raised ever had such a feeling for any of us children.

I cannot recall ever wanting to be a Prince. By the time I was three-years-old and learned of such things; my young spirit had already been broken. The orphanage Matrons made sure we kids knew we were unwanted and had no value to the world.

After kissing little Madison good-bye, I closed my son’s front door and walked next door to my house. I changed clothes and headed to the local Home Depot where I purchased several items. I made my way back home and immediately went into my garage. For the next three hours I secretly worked making two magic wands. Each eighteen inches long, each having a large five-inch glittering star on the end. One made of gold for the Princess and one wand made of silver for the Prince.

The next morning when she arrived at our house for us to baby-sit, this sixty-year-old Prince, with an old torn towel draped over his shoulders, and his three-year-old Princess played in a castle made of cardboard on the screened-in front porch.

I guess it’s never to late to be a Prince.  I only had to open my eyes to realize there was a Princess in my own family—who needed a Prince from the orphanage.

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