Imaginary Friends Come to Life

Anne Oxenreider wrote a thoughtful and well-researched blog about Imaginary Friends that I read with interest today (http://www.sixtysecondparent.com/_webapp_285086/Imaginary_friends). I thought I would add my personal take about life with an imaginary friend.

No, this article is not about one of my children: It's about me. As the youngest of four children who were quite a bit older than me (closest in age was my sister, who is eight years older), I spent most of my playtime with my Airedale Terrier, Star. Anne mentions that the profile for children with imaginary friends includes oldest and only children. Let's add youngest here as well.

In what was popularly called "nursery school" back when I was four, I read a book called "Lollipop" where children find a dog with lollipops stuck all over its fur and wind up keeping him. Shortly thereafter, I found a "litter of puppies" in the grass outside of my preschool. I "kept" one of them and promptly named him Sticky, as he had imaginary lollipops stuck to his fur, just like the main character in "Lollipop."

Sticky stuck around for a couple of years. I could make him big, I could make him small. Mostly he was with me when I was around other children: I was an awkward child who had absolutely no social skills back then. I had no athletic abilities, and I also had terrible allergies, which caused me to blow my nose in class constantly, leaving a trail of tissues behind wherever I went. Oh yeah, the other kids LOVED me (not).

Back then, my Mom used to tie thick, wool, colorful ribbons around the elastics that held my unruly curls back. These ribbons were magical: If I laid one over my head, I would be transformed into my alter ego, Merryl Johnson. If I entered a room with a ribbon laid across my head, my oldest brother would greet me with: "Hi, Merryl!" Oh yeah, Merryl got around.

I'm happy to report that I grew up semi-normal. Both Merryl and Sticky are now just fond memories. My sister and mother get quite a kick out of memories of Merryl. From the way they carry on, I wonder if they were secretly worried at the time...I sense some relief in their laughter. (Whew. She doesn't "turn into" Merryl anymore.)

If you're concerned about your children, go over to Anne's page and read her thorough article.

Or, I could put a ribbon over my head and introduce you to Merryl. That may help you to feel better. Or not.