As a five year old girl all you want to be is a princess, every fiber of your being yearns for it. I wasn’t like that, at least not at first. It was kindergarten, near the beginning of December. My class was told that we would be going to the gym for a “special surprise.” Like the rest of my classmates, I was enthusiastic. As we sat in rows on the firm gym floor, an amusing looking man wearing puffy pants strolled in and stopped in front of us. In a booming voice he yelled across the mass of children, “I present the Madrigals.” I turned too gazed at the door he was pointing at. My eyes grew to the size of saucers as six striking princesses floated in.

They were all paired with a handsome prince, singing like angels. I had spent many nights snuggled up to my mother listening to stories of fair maidens in distant lands, but I had believed that they were just stories. In that moment everything changed. My mom, who was sitting in the front with her preschool class, turned to me and whispered, “Aren’t they pretty Beth?” My head trembled with intense agreement. “They’re princesses, I want to be a princess mommy!” She just giggled at me. I couldn’t lift my gaze from a girl that look like Cinderella as she marched to the center of gym and begun to resonate a stunning sound that filled the concrete space.

I had believed that becoming a princess was a far unreachable goal. Something that only happened in story books, but in that moment I believed that just by going to high school and joining a choir, I could become a princess. I was hypnotized by the immense an attractive gowns, the astonishing talent, and beauty of the event. It will forever be imprinted in my memory. Sadly as we grow older, the things we believe in fade. Things like Santa and the tooth fairy become legends. My belief in becoming a princess was the same. But I would give anything to believe again.