My imagination is wild. At times it gets me in trouble, but most of the time, it’s my secret weapon.
I didn’t have access to television as a girl. We lived in Reche Canyon, a tiny town in Southern California that mimicked Pioneer Town on a good day.
My childhood home felt like it was in the middle of nowhere. Our home sat on three acres. Burros and rabbits were our regular welcomed visitors; rattle and copperhead snakes were our trespassers. My parents bought the land first, then together, built the house. (Technically, my dad built it; he was a contractor/plasterer while my mom was a clinical lab scientist.)
My friends lived five miles away. It also didn’t help that my neighborhood kept to ourselves. We didn’t have the “borrow a cup of sugar" comradery on our street. Instead, each home was its own fortress, protecting the living inside, and hopefully keeping out rattlesnakes.
Since I didn’t have access to television, I kept myself sane by making up people and scenarios in my head. In other words, pretend play was my main form of entertainment. One time I pretended I was poor like Jack from Jack in the Beanstalk, collecting kindling in my backyard to build a fire. Other days I was an elementary teacher, writing math problems with my dry-erase markers on my mirror closet sliding doors. But dressing up was my favorite form of pretend play.
My mom built her dream, walk-in closet. Organized by color and type of clothing, my mom’s closet was full of blouses and skirts for work, floral dresses for church, and jackets for winter. When she was at work, I’d raid her closet and try to fit her womanly clothes on my prepubescent body. One time, my sisters and I pretended we were supermodels, taking film shots of us posing in all her glorious clothing.
That’s why I love clothes so much. Even though I’m technically an adult (thanks, 401K), I still feel like that girl raiding her mom’s closet to find the perfect outfit. After all, when we put on clothes, aren’t we also putting on and playing persona? An identity? An image? When we put on clothes, aren’t we also telling the world how we’re feeling or maybe hiding what we’re truly feeling? Aren’t we all just playing dress up?
I’m 44, and I’m still playing dress up. Playing is my secret weapon for staying forever young.
What about you? What did you play when you were a little girl?
Do you still play today? If so, what are you playing?