As a child I spent most of my playtime in an imaginary world. With several siblings and cousins at my disposal, I carefully selected the cast and plot of every fictitious adventure. On Saturday afternoons, shortly after our upper lips were stained red with Kool-Aid, we came together to escape a great childhood in order to live and discover an even greater dream.
One of my favorite scenarios involved escaping an orphanage and the wrath of its evil keeper—I’ve only recently realized this was not too original if you’ve seen a production of Annie. But my other favorite game of pretend was far more elaborate. It involved two sisters, caring for their five siblings after their parents were tragically killed in an accident. Desperate--with no food or money, and on the brink of complete failure they spent their last coin (or bottle cap) on a single lottery ticket—and win. In their newfound wealth, the young sisters and their family are bombarded with feasts and fine dresses. Of course the sisters are victorious, because in the game of pretend you control your destiny.
Years later, I sometimes wish I could close my eyes and revert to the ease and triumph of childhood dreams. But as a grown woman it is expected of me to bring all my dreams to fruition in a world of roadblocks, deadlines and rejection. Do I have to experience rock bottom before I choose to spend my last dime on the toll for “victory lane?” Just maybe I can take advice from my own youthful ambitions and attempt to lead a life in which I carefully select the cast and develop the plot of my next adventure.
Some families carry legacies of education and achievement. It wasn’t until two years ago, at my grandfather’s funeral, that I realized my family’s legacy. My uncle, a tall, lean and very humble farmer, stood up, faced the congregation and said something profound that I will never forget. He said that according to his father, life was all about dreams. He then instructed us to “dream the dream. Live the dream.”
Maybe the moral of make-believe should be reversed in adulthood. We should call it “believe-make,” as in believe it and make it happen.
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