Trash or Treasure

I love this Family Circus vignette that speaks to the power of a child's imagination. It makes me think back to when I was a kid. My cousin and I would fasten our grandmother's wildly colored afghans to the posters of her twin beds with rubber bands, propping the center up with a broomstick, to make a fort. Sofa cusions turned on end were the walls. Stories ensued over battles with neighboring countries, ammo that couldn't penetrate the fort and ambushes still to come. We'd leave the fort, slink thrugh Gram's living room hiding behind tables, chairs and the console TV so as not to be seen, then dash outside and wage war on the evil aliens lurking in the Arborvitae.

Or we would set up our little folding chairs like a car. The toilet brush with a handy stand-up holder was our gear shift. Gram's fancy standing wooden ashtray was our steering wheel. And a high-tech push-the-top-to-advance-the-date desk calendar unit placed backwards on the floor made for an excellent accelerator. We drove to the baseball game, to the Toys 'R Us, and when my cousin took the ashtray, I think we even drove to the moon.

And yes, the good Catholic boys that we were, we even role played church services. That same afghan fastened over the shoulders made for a priest's cassock, while the small nightstand in between Gram's twin beds was our altar, the runway between the beds our aisle, and Cheez-its served as communion. In our church, stuffed animals listened to the sermon and got into trouble for burping and farting during mass.

As I type this, I have a grin from ear to ear. Those memories will be with me forever, and will always make me smile. And what I also remember is that Gram never told us to stop making a mess. To put the cushions back on the couch or to stepping on the desktop calendar unit. Though I'm sure she was appalled that we were farting in church.

Instead, she would marvel at the construction of the fort. Or she would say "Kiddies, I need you to drive to the store and get something for me." She never played with us, but she never hindered our creative adventures. She was a visionary, always suggested new objects for us to use along the way, like the potato masher that could be a laser blaster and the Coca-Cola that could be our church wine.

So now, I try to remember that things may be what they seem to be, but there's always something else there. I think in the working world we call it resourcefulness or problem solving. And until I became a dad, I never realized that my skills in those areas came from downshifting the toilet scrubber.