Once upon a time. All good stories begin with "Once upon a time." There was a girl. And she wants me to tell her story. Really, I have tried to avoid this for years. But she is insistent. Just won't let it rest. She always did love a good story.

So it begins. And damn the consequences. And there are consequences. The truth hurts if you avoid it for too long. Essentially bites you in the ass.

But then you can hedge your bets by getting all philosophical about it. Just start talking about perceptions of truth, and objectivity. Turn it into an intellectual discussion rather than an emotional one. Much safer. Theory is always safer than practice.

But those voices. They won't be silenced. And that girl is most strident. So is the older boy. He wants to be heard.

So, I think it's time to let them tell the tales. Those of the fathers, and the mothers, and the little children. All through the viewfinder of an odd camera obscura. Upside down and backwards. Not through the looking glass- that was another teller. But with plenty of scratches on the negatives, and room for interpretation. And the light is fitful and dim. Dreamy with bits of fog in the intervals between notes. And the times between times. And the efforts leading to tears.

Once upon a time, my friends, there was a little girl. And she was most important. In her mind she was an Indian Princess. Like the ones in her Peter Pan book. She had long braids, and loved to wear her grandmother's nightgown and jump on the bed. Her braids would fly in the air, and the nightgown would balloon around her hips. It was pink and blue. Her braids were brown. She was happy. Her grandfather quoted Shakespeare when she left for the evening to go home.

"Goodnight, goodnight. Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow."

She always giggled at his silliness. And when the grandmother died, and he stopped quoting Shakespeare, and she realized that she was no longer the Indian Princess, the loss was deafening. And irrevocable.

Her favorite game was Cowboys and Indians. She liked to be tied up, only to escape in a dramatic and dynamic fashion. She read Wonder Woman comic books, and linked the two together somehow. She liked to have her back scratched. She liked to eat candy. She liked orange pop the best. She wanted to read her own books by herself more than anything else in the world. She loved cartoons and the Walt Disney show on Sunday nights.

There is more. Only later. Later.