Delving into the imagination of a child

Raising a child reminds me of the imagination I once had.  I think I still have it, but it seems most of it’s been warped by the grim realities of adulthood.

          Our daughter is four, and her imagination has reached a new pinnacle (we certainly hope this is the peak).  Her pretend world is encroaching upon reality.  Whether we’re eating, reading, or even shopping, she is in constant play mode.

          And while we tried to steer her clear of the princess theme toys, she has now officially entered into the princess play world.  I am the king, my wife is the queen, and she is the princess.  So far this has not involved extensive costuming.  It does mean having royal meals, however, and referring to one another as “your Highness.”

          This is actually a welcome change from the animal role-playing that has been played out over and over again this past year.  Playing mommy and baby monkey, cat, dog, and goose can only go so far.

          While playtime can get old quite quickly for adults, I do enjoy the improvisation.  You never know what a child will come up with.

          A couple months ago, for example, we were playing a fascinating game of mommy and baby kittens, when I asked why one kitten was so much smaller than the rest.  “Didn’t you feed me like the rest?” I asked in my cutest little kitty voice.

          “But I did feed you,” my daughter responded, in her most serious mommy voice.  “I fed you alcohol.”

          Lately, her play themes have involved a lot of death and reconciliation.  Once such plot involves her playing the role of a gosling who just lost both of her parents.  They were driving in a car when they smelled a skunk, apparently contracted cancer from the incident and died a terrible death.  Consequently, she had to be adopted by her uncle goose (played by yours truly).

          Another favourite play theme is Bambi, where she plays the role of Bambi and I, a handsome young buck (why not??).  In last week’s plot, we found the pup of a hunting dog whose parents had abandoned him.  The poor pup was hungry, so being very accommodating deer, we searched for dead deer (specifically, deer tummies) to feed our new friend.

          You never know where a child’s imagination will take her.  And when night falls, those with the most active imaginations also tend to be the most fearful of the dark.  This is, pardon the pun, the dark side of our child’s over-active imagination.

          Let’s just say we’ve reached the point where a light in the hallway is no longer sufficient to ease our daughter’s concerns that there are monsters hiding in every crack and crevice of our home.  (Darn you, Hallowe’en!)  It’s a terrible thing to have to live with these fears, but we hope, again pardon the pun, that there is light at the end of the tunnel. 

          In the meantime, we use every tool at our disposal to ward off her fears, including heavy religious talk.  Although this doesn’t always work either.

          “What does God do to monsters?” my daughter asked the other night.

          “Well, they’re not real, so he doesn’t have to do anything.  But he’s still protecting you,” I respond.

          To which she says, “Yah, I know, but in pretend world, what does he do to the monsters?”

          For a brief moment I envision a flame-filled scene of chained creatures pounding the earth with pickaxes.

          “Um,” I respond, hesitantly, “I think he puts them in cages.  Except for the good ones – they go to heaven.”

          “Daddy,” she retorts, “There aren’t any good monsters.”

          And with that, I turn out the light.