In a world of identity theft and invasion of one’s privacy, Facebook was good to me today. We lived in the country when I was growing up. I rode to school on a bus, and ran the fields and woods in my spare time playing spy with the dog and apparently a few other things I had forgotten.
The girl who lived nearby, who I caught the bus with and played with connected with me this week. She reminded me of playing “Starsky and Hutch”, and swimming copiously getting ready for the Olympics. While I laughed about her memories and I’m still smiling now, I felt I should apologize for dragging her along on all my childish imaginings. She was very gracious and kind in her recollections which made our walk down memory lane a joy rather than an embarrassment.
But she got me thinking about my childhood imaginings. I remember rescuing orphaned children from Russia, sneaking into enemy territory to retaliate for their attacks, being a world class cowboy (or cowgirl I guess, just not quite like the helpless girls on TV), an astronaut in a rocket leaving earth, a starship captain, oh, I can go on but I’ll spare you. My childhood friend should be glad I didn’t involve her in all my imaginary adventures.
I had forgotten all about these adventures. And now I wonder if children who play out their imaginary stories become the fictional storytellers later in life. For a while now I have wondered where this writing has come from as I was not a writer as a child. Thanks to my friend I now remember I made up stories and acted them out in the hills and forests of southern Ontario. Ahh, good times!
What about you authors – were you writers or actors as children?