Up
until the age of seven or eight, I believed that if I thought something up in
my imagination, it became real.
A
fine example was The Mickey Mouse Affair. I was five years old when I told
my best friend that I had a “real Mickey, round black ears and all.”
“Where?”
she asked.
“He’s
under my bed and only comes out at night after everyone goes to sleep.” I said.
My
friend wanted one also. She told her parents, who then summoned me so I can
admit I made it up. I insisted my Mickey was real.
Kids.
This is part of the magical age.
Most
people outgrow this, or channel it only into the creative arts. A sad and bad
scenario for those who don’t grow up is when they apply this to politics.
Today,
I use my imagination to write fiction, which, as far as I’m concerned, becomes
real in its way.
©Carina
Povarchik
I've created a couple of characters that seem so real to me that I miss them, now that they're retired from action. :-)
ReplyDeleteImagination is the root of creativity.
ReplyDeleteWhat a cute story! Reminds me of my son who had a stuffed pig he called Pig, who was as real to him as his siblings were. Writing or reading a book will take me away like this, where it feels real. So will a good movie. These are my escapes from reality.
ReplyDeleteAn interesting post. Thank you, Mirka.
ReplyDeleteThe monsters under my bed were all too real.
ReplyDeleteAs a kid I was sure I saw the Peter Pan movie with real people. But when I watched the animated (1953) with my kids, I realized that was what I'd seen. Not the Mary Martin version (1960). The magic of imagination.
ReplyDeleteThose parents didn't get it...