I did. I did see Bigfoot when I was a kid and I still believe it

“I did. I did see Bigfoot when I was a kid and I still believe it to this day. I saw a big furry man outside my window. It's not funny! It was real.” – Barry Watson

There is more to this confession by Barry Watson than a tale of childhood wonder; there lies within it the eternal struggle between belief and doubt, between the innocence of vision and the cynicism of age. To declare, even as a grown man, “I still believe it to this day,” is an act of courage — not because of what he claims to have seen, but because he dares to hold fast to wonder in a world that has forgotten how to believe. The modern age worships reason, yet the human spirit still hungers for mystery. And so, in these words, Watson stands as one of the ancient dreamers — one who reminds us that the unseen is no less real simply because it lies beyond our proof.

The child’s vision of Bigfoot, that “big furry man outside the window,” is more than the image of a creature — it is the symbol of the unknown that waits just beyond the firelight. Since the dawn of time, humankind has looked into the dark forests and imagined shapes moving there. We gave them names — Bigfoot, Yeti, Sasquatch, spirits of the mountains and guardians of the wild. These beings are not just legends; they are mirrors of our curiosity, our yearning to touch the edge of the impossible. When Barry Watson says “It’s not funny! It was real,” he is defending not just his childhood memory, but the sanctity of the mystical experience — the fleeting encounter between man and the mystery of existence.

The ancients knew the power of such encounters. The Greeks told of Pan, the wild god of the forests, half man and half beast, whose sudden appearance filled mortals with both terror and awe — a feeling so deep it gave birth to the word panic. The Celts spoke of the Green Man, guardian of the woods, whose face was hidden in the leaves. To meet him was to glimpse the living soul of nature itself. Across cultures, across centuries, these stories remind us that the line between the real and the imagined is as thin as mist — and that those who have eyes to see beyond it are both blessed and burdened.

When Barry Watson speaks of his childhood sighting, he is speaking also of the moment when imagination and reality touched hands. The world often mocks such moments, calling them childish or delusional, yet perhaps it is the mockery that is foolish. For what is lost when we stop believing in what we once felt to be true? The rational mind seeks safety in dismissal, but the wise heart knows that not all truth can be measured or explained. Sometimes, truth is felt — a trembling in the soul, a glimpse of something vast and unexplainable, something that whispers, “There is more to this world than you know.”

In every age, there are those who keep the flame of wonder alive — those who, like Barry, refuse to surrender to the coldness of disbelief. Think of the astronomer Galileo, who looked through his telescope and saw moons circling Jupiter. Many mocked him, saying it was impossible, that such a sight was madness. Yet he persisted, trusting what his own eyes revealed. So too must we honor the courage of those who dare to believe what they have seen, even when the world calls it foolishness. For every great truth begins as a thing unseen, and every mystery once mocked becomes, in time, a revelation.

And what lesson, then, shall we draw from this tale of a boy and his Bigfoot? It is this: hold fast to the wonder of your youth. Guard the wild places in your soul where imagination roams free. Do not let the laughter of skeptics silence the song of your inner believer. Whether or not Bigfoot walks the forests is less important than whether we still have eyes to see magic in the world. The moment we lose that sight, we become less human — for man was not made to live by reason alone, but by faith in beauty, mystery, and awe.

So, children of the waking world, remember this wisdom: believing is not weakness — it is strength. To believe is to stand open before the unknown, unafraid to admit that life is larger than logic. Laugh, if you must, but never laugh away wonder. For one day, when the night is still and the forest quiet, you may look out your own window and see a shadow move — and in that instant, you will understand. Whether or not it was real will not matter. What will matter is that, for a heartbeat, you believed again.