06-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Boston Globe
The time I gave my daughter a make-believe pony
Our mornings before school and work were already busy, so I kept it basic. Using a pad of paper and a pencil, I would take 10 minutes to draw a picture and advance the plot in easy-to-read block letters. I didn't map out a story arc — I just let it unfold each day.
Day One did not set a high bar. 'HI SARA — HERE IS YOUR PONY. HER NAME IS FLOWER. LOVE MUMMY.'
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I drew a crude horse, folded the page, and placed it in the lunchbox. To my delight, it returned in the lunchbox, with the bread crusts and apple core. 'Did you like it?' I asked Sara, maybe a little too eagerly. She shrugged.
By Day Two there was some character development. 'FLOWER'S BEST FRIEND WAS A LITTLE GIRL NAMED SARA. SHE WAS VERY CUTE.' I posed Flower's hooves to convey personality.
As the days went by, Sara and Flower had lots to say to each other in their special language. They went on picnics, sunbathed, played baseball. Sara pitched to Flower, wearing a visor, at bat.
On Day Five,
something happened.
THERE WAS A LOUD CRACK. FLOWER THREW DOWN THE BAT. SARA WATCHED. WHERE DID THE BALL GO?
Here their adventure took off as they searched for the ball in mysterious places, encountering 10 'silly men' who foiled them at every turn. No spoilers here, but it all ended well, with new friendships and an interspecies ballgame.
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The Pickwick Papers
this was not. But it was so much fun! For once I didn't struggle writing. There were no wretched inner voices (silly men?) telling me it was dumb. No editor at my reporting job to persuade, no readers beyond Sara to consider. My only job was to delight her, which, if it did, she kept to herself.
The story continued with 10 "silly men" following the protagonists around.
Linda Matchan
After 26 installments, I stapled the pages together, called it
The Story of Flower, Sara, and Many Other Things,
and gave it to my daughter to keep. And that was that.
Or so I thought. When Sara left for college, I found a folder marked 'Flower' in her desk, with the pages tucked inside. Few things have touched me more.
The real Sara's story goes something like this: She's now 35 and still loves stories. She studied children's book illustration in art school. She started a book-editing business. She draws beautifully, especially animals, but with much more character than mine. She's a prodigious giver of handmade presents. She now has a baby of her own.
Flower's story didn't seem to make much of an impression on Sara at the time, but she cherishes it now, she says, because it was something I made just for her. And it taught her the value of 'making something handmade for somebody else,' she tells me.
My homespun Lunchbox Horse offered me a lesson too. Having reached 70, I'm struggling to unlearn the ingrained habits of a long, demanding work life and to make time for joy, to play again. It's discouragingly hard.
And yet here is Flower, surprising me by trotting back into my life on a handmade card for my baby grandson and reminding me that spontaneity and fun can manifest without effort, if only I can remember to let go.
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Linda Matchan is a frequent Globe Magazine contributor and longtime Globe journalist. Send comments to magazine@ TELL YOUR STORY. Email your 650-word unpublished essay on a relationship to connections@ Please note: We do not respond to submissions we won't pursue.
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