The fine art of pretend play

For anyone who does not know me, which is likely to be the vast majority of anyone reading this, I have a small son. He turned two this summer and he is the light of my life. I know what you’re thinking…mom’s always say that. You very well may be correct, but I also meant it. Ten years ago I was not even sure I could have a child so Boog is like my little miracle baby.

Yikes! Before I start the boo-hooing let me get to the point of this post: pretend play.

Boog has finally entered the stage of his young life where he interacts with pretend play. You know, the stage in a young man’s (or lass’) life where they pretend to make a cake or pretend to drive their matchbox car on the “superhighway” in the living room or even pretend to “fly.” It is an amazing stage of development.

The power of human imagination never ceases to amaze me. Now I see it happening with my son and I am so thrilled! This is where the fun begins… We will get to build forts out of chairs and blankets and defend our turf from the nasty, snarling pirates who threaten our booty! YAAARRRGGGGGG! We may even get to rescue a damsel in distress from an evil tyrant who set a ginormous, scaly, fire-breathing dragon to guard her door! Egads!! The times we will have…

See I am a huge kid at heart and I suppose that is why I like fiction so much. I never grew out of my pretend play phase of development. I would like to think that is true of most, if not all, writers. We unlock the part of our brain that houses the pretend play and set it free into the world for all to pretend play with us. Not everyone has this ability and I think it is a fantastic one. It might even classify as a superpower! Do I dare hope…?

My DH has lost his pretend play ability, which I suppose is normal for some folk. He had it at one time I am certain, but then the left side of his brain claimed dibs and locked his over-active imagination away. There is nothing wrong with this so please do not get the wrong idea here. DH is fantastic with the logic stuff, which seems to elude me at times, so we make an equal balanced pair. Some people just ‘grow up’ while others, those like me (and quit kidding yourself, you’re in this group too), just…..don’t.

Fiction, especially the speculative fiction genres, allows us writers to keep a firm grasp on that inner child who still lives for pretend play. We need pretend play to survive in this crazy world of ours! We need that place, even if it’s just in our heads, where happy endings are a must, where the heroes win, where the villains lose, where magic is fully alive and well, where our deepest desires all come true and where we get to….well, pretend.

Am I looking forward to sharing the wonders of the imagination with my son? Abso-freakin-lutely! One day he will get big (I dare not say ‘grow up’) and he will make the decision to either sway toward the world of logic, reality, non-fiction or hold on to his inner child and continue the pretend play. Which do I prefer, you ask? It doesn’t matter. Because for now I have my little prince who will join me while we slay dragons, save the princess, rob the rich and give to the poor, leap tall buildings in a single bound, and every other bit that makes pretend play so much darned fun.

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