“Daddy, you made an owl!” My son was quite proud of finding a neat shape in the eggs he was helping prepare.
If there’s one thing about the firstborn I will brag about it is his ability to weave a story and use his astonishing imagination at any and every moment. He sees a world I can’t, and his stories- often laced with Star Wars or Frozen plot points- are very fun.
We had a rough night last night that included a car crash. Everyone is fine and I will write about the nonsense of a car wreck as soon as I stop being really angry about the whole thing. We say for a very long time waiting for police and a tow truck to show up, but during the wait the firstborn entertained us with stories.
He was hungry, as we were on our way to get dinner for movie night, so the tales he have us were about sandwiches and cops and hammers big enough to fix Zim (the name we have our car). He drew pictures for us and wanted to make sure the row truck driver got a drawing of Zim so it could be put back together.
We sat for close to two hours and he never stepped talking and giving us fun stories. “We imagine while we wait,” he said at one point. He handled the night much better than I did. Every car and truck that went by got a story. His mom, holding the newborn at this point, asked “where are they going?” And no two cars were off to the same place.
A while back my wife and I were chatting and I jokingly said, “if I had his imagination I could write full time.”
“If you ever wrote something that creative I’d make you write full time,” she replied. I still don’t know how I feel about that reply. It was funny, but stung a bit.