Who is Peter Pan?

All children, except one, grow up.

  • He was a lovely boy, clad in skeleton leaves and the juices that ooze out of trees but the most entrancing thing about him was that he had all his first teeth.
  • She asked where he lived. “Second to the right,” …. “and then straight on till morning.”
  • “..but he was never one to choose the easy way”. He was tingling with life and also top-heavy with conceit
  • “Wendy, Wendy, when you are sleeping in your silly bed you might be flying about with me saying funny things to the stars.”
  • It is humiliating to have to confess that this conceit … was one of his most fascinating qualities. To put it with brutal frankness, there never was a cockier boy.
  • “Would you like an adventure now,” he said …. “or would you like to have your tea first?”

 

  • Peter, you see, just said anything that came into his head.
  • Every child is affected thus the first time he is treated unfairly. All he thinks he has a right to when he comes to you to be yours is fairness. After you have been unfair to him he will love you again, but will never afterwards be quite the same boy. No one ever gets over the first unfairness; no one except Peter. He often met it, but he always forgot it. I suppose that was the real difference between him and all the rest.
  • His courage was almost appalling.
  • Next moment he was standing erect on the rock again, with that smile on his face and a drum beating within him. It was saying, “To die will be an awfully big adventure.”
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  • The truth is that there was a something about Peter which goaded the pirate captain to frenzy. It was not his courage, it was not his engaging appearance, it was not—. There is no beating about the bush, for we know quite well what it was, and have got to tell. It was Peter’s cockiness.
  • Peter cut Wendy’s bonds, and then nothing could have been easier than for them all to fly off together; but one thing barred the way, an oath, “Hook or me this time.”
  • He had one of his dreams that night, and cried in his sleep for a long time, and Wendy held him tightly.
  • There could not have been a lovelier sight; but there was none to see it except a little boy who was staring in at the window. He had had ecstasies innumerable that other children can never know; but he was looking through the window at the one joy from which he must be forever barred.
  • “Keep back, lady, no one is going to catch me and make me a man.”
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  • He had no sense of time, and was so full of adventures that all I have told you about him is only a halfpenny-worth of them. I suppose it was because Wendy knew this that her last words to him were these rather plaintive ones: “You won’t forget me, Peter, will you,…..?
  • “I say, Wendy,” he whispered to her, “always if you see me forgetting you, just keep on saying ‘I’m Wendy,’ and then I’ll remember.”
  • The kiss that had been for no one else, Peter took quite easily. Funny. But she seemed satisfied.
  • “The last thing he ever said to me was, ‘Just always be waiting for me, and then some night you will hear me…..'”
  • “Yes, he is rather cocky,” Wendy admitted with regret.
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-J.M. Barrie


In my travels, I met Peter Pan. He was fascinating to me, almost enlightening. But what was I to him? I don’t know. His experiences were his own. I was not a part of them, though I would have liked to be.

His adventure with me was merely a pit stop. He was flying, hovering, observing, and looking at it all but never landing to be a part of it. He absorbed everything but never gave anything. Never let himself be known. The harder I tried to keep him, the farther away he flew – away from me and towards Neverland, a “second to the right and straight on till morning”.

“And now where is he?” you ask.

He is still flying, hovering above my dreams, my memories and my every waking thought. He shows his face, and flashes a smile at me. It’s the same smile that made me believe – in him, in flying, in fairies, in mermaids, sailors and pirates, in never growing up. He smiles and laughs, draws near to me, gives me a kiss, and evades my grasp. He taunts me, invades me, but never lets me keep him.

The only way to forget is in no longer believing – but not in him nor of Neverland, but in being together. By knowing that, though he flies above it all, I am here, my feet on the ground breathing and living in the world around me. This is where I belong this is where I am at. I don’t belong in Neverland, like he does. I’m not a lost boy, I’m Wendy. It was an adventure, such a grand adventure for a time, but it’s time to end, say good-bye and move on. It’s time to remember to go home, to find my bed and my window and tell my children stories. Stories about a boy who would never grow up, but who taught me how to.

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