But Why Can't Everything be Made of Legos?
A friend of mine's kid said this recently. Cool. I'm pretty okay with that question. In fact, it was an excellent question. I mean, kids grow out of this kind of world-reinventing fantasy soon enough anyway. I've seen too many kids throw themselves full-bore into sports and suddenly, at age ten or eleven years old fantasy and imagination already stunted because even though parents and coaches tell the kid it's all for fun and it doesn't matter who wins or loses, the kid knows that somehow this is Serious Stuff. Other kids, though, don't have to worry about cold reality for a while. Hell, I had imaginary friends until I was fifteen.
Wait, no, that doesn't sound right. Let me explain:
What I'm trying to say is that I turned the real world into something imaginary and populated it with people of my own choosing. I mean, I wasn't delusional or anything. I don't think. But so what if I was? I wasn't doing anything important at that point anyway.
Sometimes I'm at work and I walk up to Edward and say something like, "Why don't we go skipping through a field of sunflowers sometime?" or "Have you collected enough snowflakes to power your batteries for another hundred years or so?" He gives me silly looks. But I'd like to think that maybe my silliness makes E's day a little weirder, maybe a smidge less mundane. And maybe a tad magical?