Play – the dictionary places the term specific in the sphere of activities belonging to childhood and from here begins the problem of our adult lives. To say that playing belongs to the past of every adult is to deprive him of every possible way to “marvel” before the universe that surrounds us.

We, the adults, tend to live like this; we forget to feed our imagination or to stop even for a moment to marvel at everything around us. When and if we get caught by the game, time tends to stop and our energy is merged with that surrounding us, people react differently and become open, seeming to be encouraged by our experiences.

A dad that titters in the subway and carries proudly in its arms a two years old girl arouses curiosity, but also the willingness to participate. Metro windows, becoming mirrors as it slides in tunnels, reflect hidden smiles, narrowed at the corner of his lips, eager to explode into laughter. I am holding my Fairy with one hand while the arm that supports us pretends that will slip, will lose us both to the throttle or the brakes of the metro. I recover the balance with a face puzzled of my own success and this arouses laughter and giggles from the fairy. The extended audience participates in the show, as it allowed by each personality and mood; some even offer me their seat. But I refuse their gallantry and keep playing with my Fairy and I travel around the steel bar carrying, in my arms, the sweet burden that does not stop her laughter.

“Daddy Fart” she said laughing and I feign surprise but I approve, “Yes, fart.” “The-re you fart” she says pointing to her own bottom, there I say … and the laughter continues. I believe that people around me people think they have understood, but it does not matter. They smile, we laugh and we are all in the mirth. Only me, and the Fairy know that – You – is actually Me and the little gas escaped innocently on the playful tone of the moment.