Orange Pie

It all started when he decided to share the secrets of the twenty-nine villages that exist beneath his underground garage. Twenty-nine individual little existences, each dedicated to some form of sweetness: a candy cane village, cotton candy village, ice cream village, birthday cake village, banana split village were some of the early revelations. When we asked about a pie village, he answered that there was one for orange pie, which is his favorite. Since adults aren’t allowed in this world of his imagining, all we could do was ask a few questions, listen for what he chose to reveal and do our best to keep our drooling to ourselves – while occasionally providing him some of the delights of his imagination: cotton candy at the circus, a stop at Ben and Jerry’s for ice cream, and an introduction to banana splits (featuring homemade ice cream and Grandpa’s hot fudge sauce).

Ten days later, as our visit neared an end, new depths of this creative thought process rose to the surface. Mom reported that Grandma was going to make a pie for our last dinner together, and in the blink of an eye, orange pie returned to the conversation. Scrambling for something to work with, she asked for instruction, which he happily provided: take oranges and mix them up, separate the juice and add flour, put it in the pie plate, cook it in the oven. Take it out and add more flour, then cook it some more; put the topping on, then you’re done. Okay, she said, we’ll see what we can do; but if we don’t figure out how to do this, would banana cream be okay? Reluctantly, he agreed he could make do if he had to. Some resourceful Internet searching unearthed four variations on the theme of his orange pie: a couple with whipped cream, others with meringue; one uncooked with sour cream, others cooked pudding-like with egg; graham cracker crust or pre-baked and flaky.

Dinner time came, the meal disappeared and finally the pie made it’s debut. As pieces were served and shared, person after person said, Orange Meringue Pie!?! Well, I never! Who knew?! Where did you come up with an idea like that??! And eventually, as samples were tasted and plates were cleared, one final, unanimous declaration: this is good, Garth!

Why were we so surprised? Just because we never heard of such a thing doesn’t mean it might not be the best thing going. Just because my narrow thought process couldn’t expand beyond pumpkin as a possible explanation for orange doesn’t mean there aren’t a vast number of possibilities I have yet to consider. Just because it comes from the wild and woolly world of a 4-year-old’s imagination doesn’t mean it doesn’t have potential for life in this world.

I wonder how long it will take us to squash, discourage and flat-line this head-spinning mind, in the vain hope of compressing it to fit inside some container of our making. And if we fail, if we manage to stay out of his way and let his dreaming run free, where might it go? If we can find it within ourselves to nurture and encourage rather than squelch and constrict, if he never learns to color inside the lines of our reasoning, where might his imagination carry him? And what might it offer us? Unprecedented engineering to probe the existence of an unknown galaxy, the end of diabetes, a cure for selfish stupidity? Creative excavations to unearth ancient dinosaur remains, calculate a formula for healing our ailing planet, hollow out a tunnel to the sacred center where we’re willing and able to recognize each face as the face of a neighbor, while letting that which can divide us evaporate in the dawn? Sometimes I wonder what magical place is even now taking shape under those twenty-nine villages that already thrive beneath his underground garage. Whatever it is, something tells me the best is yet to come.