When I was a little girl my parents instilled within me the love
for reading. We used to go to the library once a week and I
would read anything and everything I could get my hands on.
Through my reading I learned the power of storytelling.
One of my most vivid memories was the story that surrounded
losing my first tooth. The morning after I discovered that my
tooth was gone I emerged from my bedroom to share the story of
my own personal tooth fairy. “Oh mom, she was beautiful! The
most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She had long blonde hair,
emerald green eyes, an emerald green dress with sequins, and she
was very tall.” My five foot two, brown haired, blue-eyed mother
seemed thoroughly amused by this story and she would have me
repeat it to her friends and especially emphasize how beautiful
she was. Each time I told the story though I would add another
embellishment which I later referred to as details I had
forgotten from before. Sometimes she carried a wand, sometimes
she sat on a cloud, at times she saw me and smiled, at other
times she didn’t. This story was truly a classic Amy story and
family favorite, but some of my other “stories” were not quite
as amusing. In fact, if you can believe it they were referred to
as lies and I seemed to be full of these during my youth. They
did not have to be anything in particular; it could simply be
where I got off for my bus stop. The thing was that when I began
my magic-weaving each fabrication would lead to another. I
simply had a talent that no one else seemed to appreciate.
My imagination never stopped and everything was so clear in my
mind to me that it would take ten minutes of my descriptions
before we could begin playing. “Okay Cindy, my name is Jessica
and you are Elizabeth (I read a lot of Sweet Valley Twins at the
time). So my boyfriend is Todd and you are with your boyfriend.
I am wearing a beautiful prom dress and it is cut like so
(demonstration of the actual cut). It is red and it is
beautiful. You are wearing a pretty dress too….” This is where I
would pause so that my sister could get a chance to describe her
dress. Then we would slow dance with our boyfriends which
amounted to us dancing with each side of the doorway. If these
times of set-up before we could play ever bothered my sister she
never shared it.
My imagination is still going strong although the lying has
stopped. My family now refers to my “art” as exaggerating or
being theatrical. Naturally with a gift such as mine theatre was
the best way to use my talent for good rather than evil.
Now at this point in my life my imagination takes me different
places. I now imagine who my son will become, who he will marry,
what career path he will choose, and what he will think of his
mother someday. I also imagine for myself what I will become
when I grow older. There are so many career paths I want to
explore. I have always wanted to be in the health field, I
imagine continuing my path in insurance and working my way up to
the “boss-lady”, or I imagine just devoting time to theatre and
becoming the local diva that I have always wanted to be.
My imagination and storytelling will never cease and now I
embrace this part of myself. Maybe someday when Ethan gets a
little older I can instill within him a love for storytelling.
To top it off, he will have such a fun and imaginative mom to
play with…that is if he can sit through ten minutes of mommy’s
preparation time.
Someday I envision myself as a little old lady sharing stories
of my youth to my grandchildren. I will use my old age to my
advantage and fabricate beautiful details into an otherwise
boring grandma story. I will add this magical touch that will
hold their interest. I figure that by that time they will just
think that I am old and have forgotten the real and true details
of the story. Or maybe they will become so enraptured by their
grandmother’s stories that they will dare to dream and imagine
too. And we will all discover together that the beauty of a
great story will never end as they someday share them with their
children.
