We all believe in the impossible at some point in our lives. I've believed in Santa Claus, in Cinderella's fairy godmother, in the fairies of Sleeping Beauty, in the wizardry of Harry Potter. I've since stopped believing in the reality of each one, but I don't think I've quite given up on the idea of magic.

Fairy tales have helped shape who I am today. Fairy tales fueled my passion for reading and fairy tales were where I began my own endeavor into storytelling. I wanted a world full of magic, filled with princesses, fairies, monsters, quests, spells, true love, and a happy ending. I read about these worlds and created my own. Fairy tales were safety, even when they were dangerous. For just a little while, the magic was real.

Over the summer, I babysat two adorable kids: Noah, aged 8, and Chloe, aged 7. We had good days and bad days (I tortured them by taking them to the park and making them play outside and make friends, God, I'm so evil), but there were a few magical days too. When we were driving home from the park one day, Chloe asked me what was in the big tanks on one of the main roads in our town. They're water tanks, or something, I'm not completely sure. But confidently, and without hesitation, I provided her with the answer I would have loved to hear at 7 years old:

"That's where the government keeps the mermaids."

As anyone who has ever dealt with a child can attest to, this led to a landslide of questions.

Real mermaids? Not just fish? How long have they been there? Have you seen them? Do they speak English? Can I see them? How do you know? What does the government want with them? Is it a secret? Real mermaids? You're sure?

Those are just the questions she asked me on the ride home. Unable to resist, I provided reasonable, serious answers to her questions. Of course, the mermaids had to be kept a secret, the government was doing research on them. I know because my friend's mom was the Deputy Director of the Department for Aquatic Creature Discovery and Research. I had never seen them, but she assures me they're there.You cannot tell anyone.

A secret. Kids love the ideas of secrets. Not the "Don't tell Mom," kind, because of course they'll go around shouting that Dad let them have ice cream for breakfast. But the special kind of secrets. The ones they really seriously cannot tell anybody. The ones that are made special because it's something only they know.

After the rapid-fire questions, she sat in silence for the rest of the ride home, contemplating what I had told her. I thought it would be forgotten, but every time we drove past the water tanks, I was asked more questions.

Noah was skeptical, but Chloe wanted so badly to believe that I continued the charade. In August, she asked if it would be possible to write letters to the mermaids. After all, I'd told her my friend's mom was in charge of them, so it shouldn't have been too hard for me to accomplish. And so we spent an afternoon in the park drawing pictures to give to the mermaids and Chloe dictating to me letters and questions she wanted to ask them.

When I told my parents that I'd been perpetuating this idea of mermaids existing, they shook their heads and asked me why I would do that to her. "Do what?" I asked. "How different is it from telling her Santa Claus exists?"

It's not that different really. I'd rather believe in mermaids than in Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy. In fact, I think believing in mermaids is even better, healthier.

Why do kids believe in Santa Claus? Because Santa will bring them presents. They're good (or pretend to be good) because they're convinced if they're truly terrible, they'll get truly terrible presents. Maybe I'm too cynical, but a belief in Santa is a selfish belief (yes, I will still tell my kids Santa exists, don't jump all over me).

The absolutely beautiful thing about Chloe believing in mermaids is that she's getting nothing from it. She has nothing to gain. There is nothing selfish about accepting that they exist. She's believing in the mermaids simply for the magic. It is completely pure and innocent belief. It's hope. It's hope that magic exists and that beauty exists and that the world has secrets she has yet to discover. I've never seen a bigger smile on any child's face than when she talked about those mermaids.

I've always wished for that kind of magic to really exist, and Chloe reminded me that it can, in small ways. Seeing her light up like that proved to me that magic existed. I pray to God that that little girl never loses her sense of wonder, her imagination, her belief in something so pure. She reminded me why I always go back to fairy tales, why I still read them even at 19 years old.

398.2 is the Dewey decimal system number for fairy tales. I still believe in them. I always will. My children will. My children will have Santa and the Easter Bunny, but they'll also have the mermaids, fairies, and elves. They'll know beauty, they'll know purity, they'll know imagination. They'll always believe in fairy tales.