knew that somehow I was different. Slight of frame, fair of skin,
and serious of demeanor, I toiled for many years under the mistaken
impression that I was just like all the other boys around me. But
I was not: I was smaller and somewhat wiser, and attracted to tales
of lands distant and times remote. Occasionally I glanced a hint
of pointy ear, and wondered about the attached sly grin. And, of
course, the greatest modern-day Elf of all, Mister Spock, blessed
me weekly with his presence on the farseer. A wise man, different
from those around him, he found ways to attune himself to his Man-friends.
He played an ideal role-model for me.
I read The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien. Such a
storyteller, such a spinner of yarns and weaver of tales was this
Man! And such a gift gave he me: a name to call myself, a Race with
which to identify. Now I had a word to attach to those things that
made me special, a word I could bear with pride. I knew then that
I am an Elf.
other places I read tales and heard songs about Elves, and learned
that we were believed to perpetrate all kinds of eveil upon the
Earth. Seven Hundred Elves came out the wood/ Foul and grim
they were, sang Steeleye Span and saddened my heart. Tales
in which a Man-child was abducted and replaced by an elf-child to
grow up in his stead made me doubt the value of my heritage. And
thus shamed I vowed to hide my true identity from all.