A story about childhood hope, heartbreak, and the everyday magic we carry into adult life
“Mommy, I need to take a quarter to school tomorrow.” Five-year-old Giovanni’s eyes were dancing when I picked him up from aftercare that day in October 2015.
“Why?”
“So I can win the unicorn.”
Between Giovanni and his twin brother Angel’s kindergarten-speak explanation, I learned the following: Their school was holding a raffle to raise money for the annual Halloween carnival. One of the items was a stuffed unicorn.
“Tell me about the unicorn.”
“It’s beautiful, Mommy. It has the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. And I love it.”
“That sounds beautiful. Do you understand how a raffle works? There will be a lot of tickets and only one gets picked. It might be someone else’s ticket that gets picked.”
He nodded. “I’m going to win. Because I love it.”
I remember my deep inhale and exhaled sigh as I helped him into the car. I silently lamented that Amazon didn’t sell a parenting manual with a section on how to support a hopeful kindergartner through the harsh reality of a school raffle. “I hope you win, sweetheart.”
Then we discussed what extra chores he would do to earn his daily quarter to purchase a ticket. He unloaded the dishwasher, he refilled our dog Nala’s water bowl twice a day, he watered plants, he helped with laundry, and various other household tasks. Every night he carefully placed his quarter in a small plastic bag so that he could buy his ticket at lunch. Each day he grew more attached to the unicorn with the beautiful eyes. One day we went to the bookstore and the unicorn’s identical twin sat on a shelf. Giovanni grabbed it immediately and carried it throughout the store during our visit. When it was time to leave, he gently returned it to the shelf after hugging it one final time and then whispered “I love you” in its ear. I exhaled slowly and summoned a gentle smile for him when he turned around to wave good-bye to the unicorn. I allowed myself a brief moment of resentment and unkind thoughts for the person whose money-making scheme it had been to sell raffle tickets to kindergarteners and who would have zero part in repairing their broken hearts.
The day of the carnival arrived. Giovanni’s final quarter was tucked in his backpack and his eyes were dancing. We walked to school that day and his chatter was about the unicorn, how much we all would love it, and how special it would be to snuggle it while reading stories before bed. I wished them well in the raffle (Angel was hoping for the bow & arrow set or the bicycle).
I was at work when I received the email about last-minute carnival reminders. At the bottom, it congratulated the raffle winners. Luckily for me (and Nala), the bow & arrow set went home with someone else. The bicycle did too. Disappointingly, but not surprisingly, another student won the unicorn with the most beautiful eyes that Giovanni had ever seen. I felt a heart stab for my gentle-hearted boy with the dancing eyes who had learned that information via an all-school, overhead announcement by his beloved school principal. I felt a moment of gratitude for Mrs. Robertson, his kindergarten teacher who loved him and would hug him through his disappointment.
Giovanni was silent when I picked him up from school. I asked gently about the raffle. Angel told me that someone else had won the bow & arrow set and I censored my gratitude. Giovanni’s response was a dejected “I don’t want to talk about it.” I said okay and hugged him tightly. Later that night, he crawled in bed with me and cried about the unicorn. He said that he loved it and it was so sad that the unicorn didn’t come to live at our house. I agreed with him. We sat with the sadness for a while, and then we sent a wish of hope that the lucky child who had won the unicorn would love it as much as Giovanni did and would cuddle with it while listening to bedtime stories. We both cried a bit as the wishes of hope left our bodies and made their way to the unicorn and his new owner.
By the time Christmas rolled around, the unicorn with the most beautiful eyes that Giovanni had ever seen was no longer a conversation topic. Giovanni was anticipating a scooter, per his letter to Santa, and was excited about the independence that traveling on wheels could provide.
When he peeked over the banister on Christmas morning, an identical unicorn with beautiful eyes sat under the tree, next to a shiny, red scooter.
Unbeknownst to Giovanni, one day Santa had taken a break from his workshop to visit the boys’ school during the kindergarteners’ lunch hour. I imagine that Santa smiled when he saw Giovanni give his hard-earned quarter to the volunteer and drop his ticket into the jar in front of the unicorn. Maybe he watched Giovanni’s five-year-old fingers stroke the unicorn’s soft head and it’s quite possible that he could hear Giovanni’s silent whispers of love. I wonder if he smiled at Giovanni and whispered, “I see your heart, little one. And I’ve got a back-up plan.”
Giovanni’s Christmas unicorn was later named Ronan Magic. Ronan Magic went everywhere with us for a long time, tightly clutched in Giovanni’s arms. Today, seven years later, he no longer travels outside our home and lives a quiet life upstairs, tucked safely into a special place in the boys’ room. He comes downstairs during Christmas time and sits in a place of honor close to our Christmas tree. Ronan Magic’s eyes are still quite beautiful. But they aren’t the most beautiful eyes that I’ve ever seen. Not even close. The most beautiful eyes that I’ve ever seen belonged to a kindergartener with big, brown eyes that glittered with unfettered love as he looked upon his magical unicorn.
Giovanni is now a seventh grader. He has changed a lot since Santa brought him Ronan Magic, and in some ways, he has changed very little. He still has a gentle heart that feels big feelings, a kind soul, an infectious laugh, and the most beautiful eyes that I have ever seen.
Ubuntu, fellow travelers.
— Jennifer
For Giovanni & Ronan Magic
Ronan’s story was originally published as “The Most Beautiful Eyes I’ve Ever Seen,” a blog written for the Rawson Saunders School community and published in the community newsletter. The blog is the intellectual property of the school and is available on the Counselor’s Corner website. “Magical Eyes” is the revised version of Ronan and Giovanni’s story that was reinvented to be a Stillness Story for Still River Counseling, PLLC.
