Frankie was silent. He thought for a moment and said, “So you never got the banana split?” After a long discussion he seemed to understand that it

was my own belief that limited me. I never took the chance of voicing my wish. It was a pattern that took years to break.

The next morning, Frankie casually announced that he was going out for a little while. When I asked where, he smiled and said, “I can’t say. But when I get back, I’ll need you to go upstairs.” Any further questions of mine were answered with a coy, “You’ll see.” My mother’s instinct told me he wasn’t up to anything dangerous, so I agreed. Frankie left, and I busied myself packing for an upcoming camping trip.

In a short time, I heard the back door open and Frankie’s voice yelling, “Can you go upstairs now?” As I walked up the steps, I went through a mental checklist. “Hmm, it’s not my birthday, it’s not Mother’s Day — what could he be up to?” I brushed my hair and tried to ignore the sound of chairs scraping, kitchen cabinets slamming, and muffled conversation. Soon my 9-year-old daughter Sarah, a last minute recruit into the conspiracy, announced that I could come downstairs.

“Eyes closed — except for stairs,” she said. Once downstairs, Sarah held

my hand and helped me stumble my way through camping equipment and eventually into the kitchen. “Open your eyes!” Frankie and Sarah shouted in chorus. I couldn’t believe what I saw. — Beliefnet.com