I have always loved the Peter Pan story. A boy who never wants to grow up, who falls for a pretty girl, ends up fighting pirates and in the end, has to choose between remaining a boy or becoming a man.

Well, we all know which one I picked. Sure, there have been times when a winsome lass has lured me towards becoming a grown up, but in the end, it just didn’t sound like much fun. Along the way, I battled pirates in Seattle, lost my shirt to the Indians (albeit in a casino), spent some time with fairies, and hung around with a lot of Lost Boys and Girls. A pretty fantastic life, if I do say so myself.

I probably came closest to becoming a grown up when I was in Florida. And in a fruitless effort to please someone and make something work, I almost lost all sense of being a child.

I really don’t know how it happens, our journey from being a child to being a grown up. It happens so slowly, almost imperceptibly, we don’t even notice it happening. One day, we find that our sense of wonder is gone, we no longer have the playfulness we once lived for and our very spirit seems to be on the verge of extinction, as if we were Tinkerbell and no one believed us anymore.

I have always tried to keep that light alive in me. I don’t want to grow up. Sure, I know I have responsibilities, probably better than most. I have had a job for almost all my adult life, have a roof over my head, two fantastic children, friends, obligations and even a couple dollars in the bank.

But I’ve always managed to keep it in balance. Work hard, play hard is my mantra. Like Peter Pan, I desperately wanted others to join me in my fantasy land. Some went along for a time, others poo-pooed it and told me to grow up, or as one ex said,  “put your big boy panties and get over it.”

Thankfully, I haven’t. Although my actual toy box is a little emptier than it used to be – GI Joes and Kenner building sets are about all that followed me back to Washington – I still have a cavern that I can steal away to at any time and re-engage my inner child.

Yes, it’s my closet overflowing with pirate clothes. No matter where I’ve been, I’ve always had my escape route. No, it’s not a moving van brought in in the stealth of the night. If I leave that way, it’s always a big ta-do, often with lots of drama and fireworks.

Being a pirate, however, is my E-ticket to always being a kid. It has always kept me grounded in my youth, allowing me to write checks I can never cash the next morning.

Since returning to the Northwest, I have been able to indulge in it more than ever. Sure, I went pirating in Florida, but it was never the same. The people there are different. No, not the pirates. Most of them are just fine. It’s the audience. They just seem more jaded about rogues and lasses in costume. Like they’ve seen it all before.

I blame Disney for this. Because really, that’s what Disney is mostly about. People dressed up as little pigs, princesses, flying spacemen, chipmunks and pirates. You really can’t blame people. Disney has desensitized them to pirates in their midst.

You’d think that would be the case in Washington, too. I mean, there have been pirates here for more than 60 years. If people should be jaded, it should be the who live in Western Washington.

But they’re not. Everyone here loves pirates. I guess they’re just part of the fabric of life here… it’s in everybody’s DNA to expect a pirate to walk in anywhere at any time.

I certainly know that Jack and Emmett love pirates. I met them this two weekends ago at the Meadowbrook Community Center. A press gang of pirates were asked to appear there and lead their treasure hunt.

It was there that I met the brothers. We locked eyes and it wasn’t another moment before I was on the floor in front of them, quizzing them about their piratical ways. They were all dressed up in their piratical finery. They looked to be 7 and 4. We had a lot of fun, we did, especially when I pointed to their older “sister” standing nearby. “That’s my mom,” said Jack, laughing. I told him that mommies were all old. She couldn’t be a mommy. She was “too young and not all wrinkly and frowny faced.”

As the kids headed out to find the treasure, Lollypop and I got ready to perform. We haven’t played together in about nine years and over that time, I’ve learned some new stuff obviously.

I played a few, but they didn’t seem to be working. Lolly looked over and said, “how about Volcano?” I had to search my database of a brain to remember the chords. I just hoped that I would remember the words, too.

And it all started to come back. The old songs, the old schtick. We were totally in synch, like no time had passed at all. Our little banter continued back and forth, like Abbott having his Costello back. We were always a great team.

If you remember the Lost Boys, they were castoffs in the book. Orphans, I guess you could say. In some of the tellings of the story, they finally find a home.

Well, this Lost Boy found his once again. After eight years of adventure in Neverland, I’ve returned home. But the cool thing is I still get to be Peter Pan. Yes, Neverland was pretty and it was fun being a pirate there. But there’s something all the more wonderful about getting to play pirate in a place you have always called home.

Thank you Neverland, for showing this pirate that home was actually two stars to the left, not to the right, and then straight on till morning.

In the Emerald City, wondering what that old codfish is doing these days,

– Robb