Everybody wants to know why kids have no imagination these days. They have it, it just has to be tapped into--and you have to know where to take them to let them tap into it.
I was watching my neighbor’s grandson playing in her front yard the other day. Apparently there’s a hard fast rule about not bringing electronics to Grandma’s house, and thank goodness for that, because I had a great time watching this kid try to entertain himself while completely bereft of anything requiring batteries.
First he kind of wandered around the yard aimlessly. He was about eight, I guess ... I was watching him over the top of a paperback book; the book was boring and he was the most interesting thing happening at the time. For a moment I thought he was going to give up and go in the house, maybe find some cartoons on television, but suddenly he tripped over a stick in the grass … and the magic started to happen.
As I watched, the stick became a sword, and judging by the pile of bodies he was amassing, it was sharp and deadly. The impromptu Ninja found bad guys behind the porch, under the car and up in the trees. He scattered leaves in a dizzying blur until he had sought out and slain all the fugitives from justice that were threatening the royal palace. Lacking any better place to store it when he wasn’t actively killing bad guys, he stuck the “sword†vertically in the waistband of his shorts. It came out at about his ankle and was a major hindrance when he went to squat down, but it was handy when he needed it.
Grandma’s old cat was stretched out on the porch step lazing in the morning sun. Cats are funny … they can appear to be dead to the world, but are constantly aware of what is going on around them. This one was no exception and was immediately cognizant of the fact that it was being hunted. Of course it had ceased to be an ordinary housecat and was now a lion on the African plains, and the “sword†was magically transformed into an elephant gun. Weapon to his shoulder, the boy crept up on the cat, looking a great deal like Elmer Fudd after that “wascally wabbit.†The cat flicked its tail in annoyance, his eyes never leaving the boy, and yawned widelyâ€â€a gesture that I’m sure appeared to the young hunter as a mighty roar.
“Bang!â€Â
Whether secretly obliging the boy or just acting on natural feline impulse, the cat flopped over on his side, stretched, and immediately went back to sleep.
“Gotcha!†The boy smiled in satisfaction.
At that point he withdrew a red soda straw from his back pocket. Don’t ask me why he was toting around a used soda straw, he just was. He squatted in the driveway, rearranging his sword/elephant gun so that it wouldn’t job him in the bread basket, and began to gather tiny pebbles. Pebbles that he fed into his red plastic “dart gun†and fired at rival Jivaro headhunters along the Rio Nava River in Equador. One hit the side of the house. Ping! Another glanced off the fender of Grandma’s car, which brought her instantly to the front door.
“Boy! What hit my car?â€Â
“I dunno!†He replied, surreptitiously dropping the handful of gravel he’d gathered to the ground behind his back.
“What’dja do to my trees?†She demanded next, eyeing the scattered leaves.
“Nuthin’!â₠¬Â He declared.
The cat, his eyes full of the truth, gazed up at Grandma like he wanted to spill the beans but couldn’t. After all, he was dead, wasn’t he.
I could see the boy’s predicament. How could he explain his actions to Grandma? How could he tell her that he had single-handedly rid her of bad guys, slain a lion, and mowed down countless headhunters all in the space of a half hour or so?
Kids have no imagination anymore? I beg to differ. Next time you want to see an example, take your kid to Grandma’s, arm him with a stick/sword/elephant gun and a soda straw/dart gun … and watch the magic happen.
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