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When I was a kid, I loved ‘imagination
games’. These were games predominantly in my head, and involved making up a
story to act out. I particularly liked pretending to be a lioness, usually
making a daring escape from a mean zookeeper with my lion cubs, who were played
by teddies. I also liked to make up adventures in fictional, fantastical or
historical places. Or sometimes I would use a book or movie to form the basis
of an imagination game and would act out a story that could fit in that world.
I know lots of kids play ‘pretend’, but sometimes I wouldn’t even act that much
of the game out, I would just let it happen in my head.
I had a friend in primary school who was
also into imagination games. The two of
us regularly ran a day care centre for imaginary children, or a shop, or other
businesses. We had a purse full of coins from her mum and we pretended that 1c
was a dollar, 10c = $10 etc., so if we ever found 5 or 10 dollars, for
instance, we would be stinking rich and would take a pretend holiday. Sometimes
our games were quite dramatic, I remember one in which I was her blind sister
and we were trying to pay for my surgery. We never discussed it, but we only
ever played these games when it was just the two of us. When we were with other
girls, we played at make up and talked about boys and listened to music and
pretended to be grown up. Which is sad, in a way, because we were only about
11. I also remember thinking around this time that I should grow out of playing
pretend games, but I never really did.
When I was a teenager, I often used them to
help me do things I didn’t want to. Bringing in the washing became harvesting
fruit, I would pretend that jobs or homework I had to do were part of a race
against the clock type gameshow. I remember spending school holidays when I was
home alone, pretending that my life was something else. Not because I didn’t
like my life, but because hey, I could be eating 2 minute noodles in the
backyard OR I could be eating an authentic Japanese noodle dish in the
Emperor’s private garden, awaiting his approval of my new kimono.
As an adult, I definitely don’t play games
in my head as often as I used to. It’s sort of as if the kid in me has
forgotten how. Or maybe that she’s just asleep, because sometimes I still do. She
must wake up every now and again because sometimes I’m not walking down the street;
I’m a trained assassin, following my next target. I’m not ironing my clothes,
I’m ironing the Lady’s clothes, and if I don’t have all the creases pressed out
she won’t look perfect at the ball tomorrow and it will bring disgrace on the
house.
Actually, I’m very often living out Downton
Abbey fantasies… I play them at work sometimes, when I’m setting up for a
conference. All the chairs have to face a certain way, and I like to lay the
tea cups out perfectly symmetrically, and all the while I’m not Lizzy, I’m Anna
and I’m not setting them out for a client, I’m setting them out for the
Crawleys.
I’m not sure if anyone else does this sort
of thing, but I suspect it is one of the reasons I like writing stories so
much. Do you still play pretend? Tell me all about it.
