Prince Charming Goes to Preschool

She calls him “Jimbo” now. She is 5, he is 4, and they are in love.

Chelsea and Jimbo. Sittin’ in a tree.

Maybe it’s all the princess and fairy movies that turn 5-year-old girls into little Cinderellas, eagerly awaiting their Prince Charmings. I can remember Katie, at 3 or 4, greeting my return home from work with the following command: “Daddy, you need to come upstairs with me now so we can get married.” And on we’d go, to dance at the royal wedding in her bedroom. (Katie, are you sure you don’t want to go outside and have a catch?)

Chelsea is more of a Tinker Bell kid, but she buys into the Disney-fied view that the love of her life is just a heartbeat away. She’s also gotten a heavy dose of the High School Musical medicine, and it’s clear that her preschool classmate and fellow church member Jimmy is the Troy to her Gabriella. (“It’s hard to believe / That I couldn’t see / You were always there beside me ...” )

They play together in school, attend each other’s birthday parties, and sit together in church. On a recent Sunday, Chelsea and Jimmy could be seen drawing together in the pew, coloring pictures of Adam and Eve. For Valentine’s Day, he gave her a necklace. With Tinker Bell on it, of course. When we explained to Chelsea that she and Jimmy will be attending different kindergartens next year, she bawled.

There will come a time, sooner than I’d like, when the word “boyfriend” will send a shiver down my spine. I have already developed a three-point plan for the first real boyfriend that either girl brings home: First of all, he needs to come over and do homework with her, at the kitchen table, at least two nights a week; second, he needs to come to church and out to dinner with us a few times; third, he needs to spend a weekend helping me paint the basement. Then we’ll see.

For now, at least, the older one is giving me no such worries. Katie, at age 8, is far removed from that once-upon-a-time world of knights in shining armor. By first grade, she had begun to have real conversations with boys in her class. And they had reached a tacit understanding: If Katie could run as fast as them, or beat them in sports, then she was super cool. Katie met those requirements, and that was all the boys asked of her. Katie asks nothing of them, except that they understand she’s got way more important things to do right now than look for her own Troy. Reading, gymnastics, art, swimming, her new puppy – those are the loves of her life right now.

Chelsea, I’m sure, will follow suit and drift away from the world of preschool romance. She will find her own inner Hannah Montana and drift away from Gabriella. But I have to say, I think I will miss it.

Maybe you have to see her sit down next to Jimmy, and watch the way they communicate through subtle changes in their bright smiles. You have to see the way they look at each other – not so much like two kids in love, but like two kids who have forged a partnership through a critical stage of growth and development. They are lifting each other up, and helping each other figure out how to socialize, play fair, be considerate and care for their peers. You ought to see them hug, in a way that goes beyond the awkwardness of 5-year-olds and into the embrace of companionship. It’s something to see.

So go on, kid. Go to preschool. And don’t forget to say hi to Jimbo for me. He doesn’t have to paint the basement. Let’s have him over for a play date.

Pixie Dust and Pinstripes

So fairies are the new princesses in the wonderful world of Disney. I just finished watching the film “Tinker Bell” with my 3-year-old, and I also saw her eyes light up when she received a Tinker Bell sweatshirt, children’s book and T-shirt for Christmas. Perhaps Disney has finally milked all it could out of the “Princess” phenomenon that has connected Snow White, Cinderella, Belle, Ariel and friends for the past decade, and must now turn to little creatures who create magic with their pixie dust.

But let’s face it: Princess and fairy tales are the kinds of stories we were raised to love. Is it part of our genetic DNA or is it learned behavior that causes so many of us to seek out the happily ever after? Whatever the cause, it is what we root for. Whether it’s the girl with the glass slipper or the untested rookie pitcher, we all seem to find ourselves pulling for the underdog.

Last year, I watched the Tampa Bay Rays shock the baseball world for six months, winning game after game with a team full of young, talented and unseasoned kids. These players soared all the way to Game Seven of the American League Championship Series. And then, when the Boston Red Sox had the Rays’ backs fully against the wall, Tampa Bay even brought out a prince of its own – take away the “N” and you’ve got his name, David Price. This rookie phenom, with just a few innings of major league ball under his belt, blew away the mighty Red Sox hitters and led his new Rays teammates to the World Series.

It was quite a story, and it’s one that baseball fans will surely remember for some time. But fascinating as I found the Rays’ rise, I remain very much a New York Yankees fan. I like the fairy tale stories, but when the 2009 season begins I will be rooting for the Disney Corp. of baseball. I’m a die-hard fan of a multimedia conglomerate. Yay! I know, there’s no real charm to that. As the new stadium opens, and many of us are boxed out of affording tickets, it seems illogical to be cheering for such a business.

Rooting for the Rays would make more sense if you’re looking for some pixie dust in your sports appetite. But if you’re honest with yourself, you know that entertainment, at its best, invokes a connection to the dreams and imaginations of our childhood. I can go on and on about the Yankees being a might giant – an Evil Stepmother, if you will – but it doesn’t change the fact that I grew up idolizing the players on this team. It doesn’t change the fact that the sight of those pinstripes reminds me of my own youthful innocence and joy, as I made believe I was Graig Nettles at the plate or Ron Guidry on the mound.

Say what you want about the media giants, but they know what they’re doing. A 20-year-old can take a college class in economics and turn all cynical on the might and manipulation of Disney. But slip “The Lion King” into a VCR player, and that 20-year-old turns to mush, singing “Hakuna Matata” with sheer joy.

So bring on the fairies. And the new pinstriped millionaires. I’ve got my critical business eye trained on the Yankees. But I’ve also got the wide-eyed wonder. And as far as I can tell, the latter isn’t going away.