A parent and child tell each other stories. (Getty)
Over the course of the pandemic, my 6-year-old son rode in a fire truck. He hosted parties filled with games and exotic-flavored cupcakes. He practiced magic and learned to fly. And he did it all with a friend named Iggie by his side.
Iggie is an eagle a young eagle, who lives in a nest in the “Soapstone Forest,” a name derived from a nature trail in Rock Creek Park near our home in Washington, DC. Iggie came to life decades ago, as a character in the bedtime stories my father told me as a child. I still remember being snuggled under my covers with my dad perched on the edge of my bed, conjuring up tales of adventures both routine and fantastical.