0
Share on bsky
My childhood wasn’t built on fairy tales, it was built on card tricks, storytelling, and a father who turned the ordinary into wonder.
One of my earliest memories of my Dad was him sawing my mother in half as part of a magic show rehearsal!
My dad, Wilco the Magician, performed across Canada, New Zealand, and Australia. To audiences, he was a master of illusion—pulling coins from ears, turning silk into doves, and making jaws drop with the flick of a hand.
But to me, he was more than a magician. He was a living, breathing reminder that life is full of hidden beauty if you know where, and how, to look.
The stage was his kingdom, but his true power was storytelling. Every trick had a narrative. The silk scarf wasn’t just vanishing, it was traveling to another dimension. The rabbit didn’t just appear; it had a reason for choosing that moment to arrive.
For Wilco, magic wasn’t about deception, it was about opening people up to wonder. That wonder wove its way into the way I now see the world.
Behind the Curtain.
From side-stage, I watched how an ordinary deck of cards could become a portal to possibility.
I knew the sleight of hand, the secret pockets, the timed distractions, but still, it never ruined the magic. If anything, it deepened my belief. Because the real magic wasn’t in fooling the eye, it was in stirring the soul.
As the audience gasped, laughed, or leaned forward in disbelief, I saw something quietly profound: people wanted to believe. They came in skeptical and left transformed, not because of the trick, but because of how the story carried them and made them feel.
Magic, I learned, is less about the illusion and more about what it invites us to feel: awe, connection, and joy.
Magic in the Mundane.
While Wilco’s shows were dazzling, it was the way he carried that magic into daily life that stayed with me.
He’d turn a simple family or friends gathering into a performance, complete with tricks, belly laughs, and storytelling. He’d narrate a walk around the block like it was a quest. Every interaction, whether with a neighbor, a shopkeeper, or his kids and grandchildren, was a chance to bring a little wonder into someone’s day.
That’s where I began to see real magic: not in the disappearing coins, but in how he made people feel seen. How he used stories to pull people into the moment. In a world that rushes us past beauty, he taught me to pause. To notice the color of a sunrise. To appreciate the music of laughter. To believe in the goodness tucked between the cracks of ordinary days.
The Power of Belief.
Something my father used to say to me was, “Magic is real because you believe in it.” It sounds simple, but it’s a kind of alchemy.
He taught me that magic, and life, hinges on belief. Not blind faith, but the kind of belief that allows you to dream boldly, try bravely, and trust deeply. Before performing any trick, he’d visualize it. Practice it in front of a mirror. See it working in his mind. That became a metaphor I live by: if you can see it, you can become it.
Belief is the seed of transformation. Whether you’re learning to trust yourself again, healing from something heavy, or daring to pursue something wild and wonderful, it starts with belief.
Connection Is the Trick.
After spending time with him writing his biography, I realize my father wasn’t interested in fooling people, he simply wanted to connect. He’d look you deep in the eye, crack a joke, and make you feel like the most important person in the room. In that moment, you weren’t just watching magic—you were part of it.
That’s a lesson I try to carry everywhere. Real magic happens when we’re fully present with one another. In a smile exchanged with a stranger. In a quiet conversation with a friend who’s hurting. In the way we choose to show up, gently and generously.
These aren’t illusions. They’re real acts of connection. And in a world hooked on distraction, they’re revolutionary.
Embracing the Unknown.
Being the daughter of a magician meant learning to live with theatre, secrets, and mystery. Not everything needs to be explained. Some things are more beautiful when we let them remain mysterious.
That’s a comfort I return to often. When life throws a curveball, when plans unravel, when nothing makes sense, I remind myself: this is part of the trick.
The unknown isn’t always a threat. Sometimes, it’s where the magic happens.
The Greatest Illusion.
Now, long after his stage lights have dimmed and the applause have faded, my father’s magic lives on in me. In the way I speak, teach, listen, and love. I believe in magic, not because I was fooled, but because I was taught to look deeper.
Magic, as my father showed me, isn’t about escaping reality. It’s about seeing it with fresh eyes. It’s about storytelling, presence, belief, and wonder. It’s about the courage to trust that something beautiful might still be around the next corner.
I am the magician’s daughter—and I believe in magic.
~
author: Dr. Pamela Weatherill
Image: Author's own
Editor: Nicole Cameron
This account does not have permission to comment on Elephant Journal.
Contact support with questions.