My kid would love this

Show of hands, how often have you heard the line "My kid(s) would love this, do you do birthday parties?" 

Oof, what a gut punch. Just like that, an intense moment of magic is thrown out the window and reduced to a mere triviality fit only for children. Decades spent learning to craft a profound and cerebral experience disregarded with one sentence. 

We know there's nothing wrong with performing magic for youngsters. Children's magicians are some of the hardest-working professionals who can manage sugar-high and iPad-deprived attention spans better than anyone. We know this, but we want our work to be a moving piece of art fit for "intellectual audiences." Deep down, we feel what we provide is needed more by those jaded from life, not those still processing the gift of experiencing every day as magical. 

We want to give our peers the gift of experiencing life as magic again, dedicating immense amounts of time and energy to achieving this. Understandably, we take the birthday party line personally. Do they not understand weighty discussions around paradoxes and the nature of death is unsuitable for youngsters?

The sentiment is understandable but misses the point. 

Sure, 3% of the time, the person is dismissive or condescending. Perhaps that's what's needed for them to rationalise what happened so they can continue sleeping at night. However, the other 97% of the time, being asked to perform for children is one of the highest compliments we can ever receive. 

Put yourself in their place: you're a parent who feels the weight of the world on their back. Life is hard, and being fully responsible for a child's happiness and well-being is draining yet immensely rewarding. On a rare night off, you visit a historical hotel and stumble upon a magician at a table tucked-away near the lobby. You're hesitant yet intrigued, and your curiosity precedes an experience you could have never anticipated. It's not like that on YouTube or TikTok. Just for a moment, you remember what it was like playing in the snow as a kid and implicitly knowing anything was possible. It's a feeling you didn't realise you had forgotten, but now you want to hold onto it even tighter. Your instinct is to share that feeling with those you care about—you want to ensure your kids never forget it.

Poetical and hyperbolic? Sure. But it doesn't stop it from being true. 

Being told someone's child would love this is really them saying, "I loved it so much that I want to make sure the most important people in my life get to experience it themselves." They're willing to trust you with those sacred to them. It's one of the most sincere compliments we can ever hope to hear. 

Learn to cherish this. Understand the importance of what you give others.