(submitted by the amazing Mir of WouldaShouldaCoulda.com)
I never had a real imaginary friend, which I realize is an oxymoron, but hear me out. I never maintained she was real or even told anyone about her. I was well aware that 1) she wasn't there and 2) I would be mocked if I spoke aloud what I was thinking, so in that sense this doesn't make a great story; I was never the adorable little kid insisting that no, you can't sit there, my friend is sitting there or whatever.
Nevertheless, I kind of did have an imaginary friend. Her name was Laura Ingalls.
Given how important she was to me, I find it odd that I cannot remember the occasion for which I received a boxed set of the Little House on the Prairie books, nor who it was that introduced me to the world of homesteading and both simpler and more terrible times. That's not what I remember. I remember reading the books, rereading them, reading them until the covers frayed and bent and hung at tattered angles to the dog-eared pages. I remember sneaking a flashlight into my bedroom so that I could read under the covers past my bedtime, even though I'd read the book a dozen times before.
I'm certainly not the first girl to be charmed by the tales of Laura Ingalls Wilder's family, and many of my friends enjoyed the books as well. But for me, it went beyond that. I loved Laura. I just knew that if I'd lived next door to her and we were the same age, we would be best friends. We were so much alike; we wanted to be good, but sometimes we were naughty. We both believed girls can do anything boys can do. We both sometimes believed our older sibling was loved more, was somehow more worthy. We both loved fiercely and were quick to anger.
Of course, I didn't live back in pioneer times, and she didn't live in modern times with me. But I began to imagine what it would be like if she did. Riding on the school bus, sitting alone, I imagined the conversation if Laura was suddenly plunked down into the seat next to me, maybe through a wormhole or something. She'd be scared. I'd have to explain the bus to her—explain cars and engines to her—and even clarify how it was that schools were so big, now, we had separate grades and classrooms. She would be shocked by my jeans, and I would patiently explain that it was no longer considered improper for girls to wear pants. Slowly, comprehension would dawn; she would eagerly ask tons of questions, wanting to learn more about what else had changed in the world. I would be her guide, and we would be the best of friends as I helped her to navigate.
I always imagined her coming to me, and that gave me the opportunity to be the expert. In retrospect, I think it's funny; I'm sure the reason I was so drawn to her stories was that her troubles were always so basic. Warmth. Shelter. Food to eat. She knew how to do everything, it seemed. She was happy with a corncob instead of a real doll. Her parents didn't fight. School wasn't a never-ending trial of always feeling like an outsider. Sure, sometimes she had pangs or difficulties similar to my own, but for the most part she bore up with grace and maturity under issues that no one could dispute were real.
Whenever I was stressed out or bored, I'd imagine Laura there with me, asking me what in the world my backpack was made of and how does the telephone work without an operator. And whenever someone told me that I couldn't do something, I imagined Laura there by my side, insisting that wasn't true. She was my first brush with feminism, though I didn't know it at the time.
I let Laura go sometime in high school, I think. But when I found out I was going to be a mom, I went out and bought a new set of Little House books. Maybe Laura wasn't quite as important to my kids as she once was to me, but I still loved introducing them to each other. And there was some solace in knowing that they probably needed her just a little less than I did, too. Still: the day I caught my kids pretend-playing that they had to twist hay into sticks to keep the fire going was bittersweet.
Is there a person or character from your childhood reading who was especially important to you? Did you ever morph one of them into a pseudo-imaginary friend like I did?
Read more Mir @ wouldashoulda.com. You'll be glad you did.
Books were my constant and most favorite of companions as a kid, but when the book was over I either put it down and moved on to the next or re-read it. I never did take one of the characters with me though. I kind of wish I had.
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You might love The Wilder Life by Wendy McLure. She thought of Laura as a real part of her life too. The book is very interesting, but not really fan girly (or not much) believe it or not. I am really enjoying the book and you might too, you know, if you had time to read.
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My first best friend was Ozma. I *loved* the Wizard of Oz books. And I always saw myself as Ozma’s Dorothy.
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Your imaginary friend seems to have been rooted well in the world, whether the old one or the modern. I didn’t have an imaginary friend, but I always wanted to be Wendy from Peter Pan. Whisked away to a land that was not of this world. Escapism had a stronger allure.
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Anne Shirley was one of my favorites and while I daydreamed that we lived parallel lives, she never came to visit me in my time. I was always there with her on P.E.I. Later, I discovered Emily Byrd Starr and I really had MUCH more in common with her personality-wise. I loved these little orphan girls with the gigantic imaginations, and while I was never an orphan, my imagination was just as vivid and just as important to my existence.
My imaginary friend was with me from the time I was around the age of two until a little after I turned four. Her name was Marci. Her parents lived behind the front door (I’m not sure of the logistics of this, but I can vividly remember their house being there, behind the door). She was small, like me, but there the resemblance ended. She was blond haired and blue-eyed, forthright and unafraid. Where I was dark haired, dark-eyed, painfully shy and wholly locked in by the rules.
Sometime late in my third year, my family moved (I was an only child at the time) which didn’t really effect me much as the only child of a stay at home mom, but at this point her pregnancy (that she was carrying twins was still unknown) was making itself known and was changing what all she was able to do (due to exhaustion? severe “morning” sickness that lasted all day? I don’t really know. I was THREE). But at about this time, Marci started being bad.
See, her family stayed at our old house. Behind the front door. Marci, on the other hand, moved with us. Marci started doing things like writing on the walls, and sneaking real food into my play kitchen in my room, and drawing on my dolls. The image of her doing these things was so real to me, that is actually how I remember it. My mom assures me this Marci was not real and it was, in fact, me doing the bad things. Totally out of character.
After much punishment and threats, my dad decided that Marci had to go back to live with her parents. I, apparently, took this in stride. (note: the following is an account of events as I recall them. Please keep in mind. I WAS FOUR) My dad helped me pack Marci’s things in a blue, hard shell suitcase that was just her size, and yet, somehow fit all her things. He walked with us to the corner down the street from our house where we waited for the bus. A big silver bus with red down the sides pulled to a stop and Marci got on. (My dad assures me that all the packing, the suitcase, the bus, etc were all imaginary, but he DID walk me to the corner which wasn’t all the way down the block, but the end of our driveway.
I never mentioned Marci again. (and the bad things stopped happening)
It’s funny to me that I remember these things so vividly as if they happened, but they were totally invented by my imagination.
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Loving your Dad today, Tenessa…
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I could have written this post. I LOVED the Little House books. I used to put on a sunbonnet and play “Laura” in the backyard all.day. long. I still have my books, tattered covers and all.
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Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself, by Judy Blume was my very favorite book from the time I was 8 until I was 12 or 13. I had numerous imaginary conversations with Sally, and I was fully convinced that, were she real, we absolutely would have been the best of friends.
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For me it was Jupiter Jones from Hitchcock’s The Three Investigators series. I was brainy, a bit overweight, glasses, braces, stereotypical nerd… back when it was a ‘bad’ thing to be so. He was many of those as well, but made it be more bearable, even cool at times.
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Laura was my favorite character, too. I felt like I actually became her every time I read the books. I went through two sets of them!
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Trixie Belden, girl detective. The books were (I remember this) $1.05 and I would devour them. I thought she was way cooler than Nancy Drew. I just knew she and I could be great friends, and it was a comfort to learn that “tomboy” was not a bad thing. Truly, she was a better friend and role model than anyone else I knew.
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Totally would’ve named my kid Laura if I could’ve gotten away with it. Loved her. I am wondering though, if the technological/sheltering divide is too big for kids to really “get” anymore. I taught third graders who found it hard to believe that a 9 year old used to be able to ride a bus to the pet store and pick out a pet by themselves.
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Like Tenessa Anne was important and, when I discovered her, Emily.
Weirdly though after I got over my intensive ‘I DO SO go to Narnia every night and for real not in my dreams so there’ stage (about a year long), I became totally obsessed with Susan Cooper’s Dark is Rising series. Got me through a pretty horrible middle school and I still have a soft spot for Will and, natch, for Great Uncle Merry.
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Oh! And how could I possibly forget? Betsy – of Betsy-Tacy and all the other books. Loved Betsy and discovered just last month that the whole set of ‘em are on e-books now. YAY!
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Oh dear, all I can think of is a professor who was researching for a paper about how Laura Ingalls is a cannibal. It was a marvelous example of the amazing and bizarre things one could do with an English major.
My brother and I shared imaginary friends growing. We both knew that they weren’t real, but it was way more fun than just playing together. They were…Puff the Magic Dragon and Richie Rich. We’d all climb aboard Puff (cleverly disguised as a couch) and ride to the land of giants where we’d get captured by a baby giant among other things.
I do possess a penchant for viewing fictional characters as role models. When I was struggling with something in high school, I’d think of say…Ender and all of the challenges he faced, and obviously, mine were easier to tackle.
Nowadays, I fall back on the “What Would INSERTCHARACTER Do?” thought process. For example, I tend to get immensely nervous before interviews. I have a small dagger necklace that I wear, which reminds me of Nick from “The Demon’s Lexicon.” He is absolute failure when it comes to socializing. So, I think to myself about how Nick would menace the interview with a sword, which serves to simultaneously amuse me and remind me that I cannot screw up that much.
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My oldest daughter is working her way through Laura now. Does she love her as much as I (we) did? Last year she was Laura for Halloween, so, um, yes. (And then she asked for a covered wagon for Christmas. True story.) She plays “Laura” and Dr. Quinn with her sister and I love watching her recreate so many scenes that I played out with *my* sister so many years ago. Let’s just hope she doesn’t accidentally set the yard on fire like, um….nevermind.
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Ermmmm . . I still kinda do it with every book I really luuurve. Yes, I am full of dorkitude.
As a kid, I thought of the Little House stuff as hundreds of years ago. Later as an adult, it felt much more immediate and real, after I found it was more like late 1800s. After all, until I was 27, my family was close to a woman (we called her Grandma!) who was born in 1892.
Changed my perspective on a lot of history. And where my parents grew up (wild woods of Boonie Canada), they themselves had outhouses and no electricity and stuff, so the books made me feel closer to my parents as well.
I can’t wait to read my copies with my own daughter . .
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I definitely identified with Claudia in From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. But the world I wanted to be in? It wasn’t the Shire or Honalee or anything I’d find remotely cool now. I wanted to live in Stoneybrook, Connecticut. That’s right: my biggest ambition was to be in the Baby-Sitters’ Club. My mom found this flabbergasting as I showed little interest in sitting my brother or any other actual children.
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I just KNEW that Harriet the Spy and I would be besties, if only I lived in New York City.
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Bilbo Baggins. From the time I was 7, I longed to be a hobbit, longed to have Gandalf show up on my front doorstep so that I, too, could go have adventures.
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I didn’t want to be friends with Jo from Little Women, I wanted to BE Jo. For years. My third grade teacher, Miss Demeter, introduced me to Jo. Thank You, Miss Demeter. Both of them had a tremendous impact on my life.
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Oops, didn’t mean to be anonymous.
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I never really latched on to any fictional characters as friends, but I often wished Carol Burnett was my mom.
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I still own my tattered, falling-to-bits Little House books! My mother read them when she was a child, and gave me the first book when I was five. I still attribute my lifelong love of reading to the Little House in the Big Woods book. Mom would give me the next book in the series on special occasions, and they were without a doubt my all time favorite gifts. My escape from my little world of difficulties was not in pretending Laura was in my time, but that I was in hers. I wanted to wear dresses and sunbonnets and make sugar candy with snow and use cattails as straws. I felt a special connection with her because the “big woods” she lived in as a very young girl were in Wisconsin, where I had also lived when I was little. We were practically soul mates, or so I felt. She was, in many ways, my best friend. I am so glad you shared your story, Mir, and I can’t wait to be able to share Laura with my children someday,
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A rather basic question here. What do you think is a good age to start reading these books? I read Little House in the Big Woods to my son when he was 5 or so but we never went on to read the rest. Thinking about starting with my daughter, who’s 5 now, but I wonder if she’d ben more interested in continuing if we waited a bit and she was old enough for the whole series. Also, being the modern vegetarian I am, I’m squeamish about all the hunting and butchering…
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We started around 5, Steph. My experience was that my son was less interested than my daughter (until we got to Farmer Boy), so maybe your daughter will be more interested?
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I didn’t bring the characters into my life quite that way, but I wanted to be Trixie Belden. I still jokingly refer to blizzards as ‘lizards’ as her little brother did.
Or Harriet the Spy. Loved that book, too. Except for the part when her book gets discovered. That would suck.
And I wanted an adventure like Alice in Wonderland. I still have the copy I was given when I was seven or so. It’s pretty tattered but I can’t see me ever getting rid of it.
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Yay!! I still say “Holp, Holp!” in my head like…Brian, was it? (I commented about Trixie up there ^ somewhere)
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I *was* Matilda. I was RIGHT and those terrible adults were flaming idiots, and one day I WOULD BE FREE OF THEM! Apologies for the shouting.
My storybook life came true. When I moved into my college dorm, I was very nearly emotionally separated from them, if not financially. When I graduated and got married, I was really free of them.
Things are better now, but I needed time on my own before accepting my parents for who they are.
Incidentally, my reading group picked _The Eyre Affair_ for our summer book. If you haven’t read it, you should! The lines between novels and reality are a bit fuzzy.
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Here’s another one for Anne Shirley. I still have the copy of Anne of Green Gables that I got during a family trip to PEI when I was 7. The pages are practically brown and I’m fairly certain none of the pages are connected to the backing anymore, but I don’t think you’ll be able to get me to part with it.
I used to act out the stories in my backyard and basement. Her life was just so much more interesting than my rather humdrum suburban existence.
The other characters I desperately wanted to be friends with where the Walkers and Blacketts from Swallows and Amazons. They sailed on a lake all summer and camped on an island and had adventures. Oh, how I wanted to pack up sailing dinghy and go with them! Never mind that we had a boat instead of a cottage and actually did sail to the Thousand Islands for a few weeks each summer and I almost always had a great time (except for the occasional bout of seasickness). That didn’t count because I was with my parents.
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Gah. *were, not where. *pack up a dinghy
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I read and loved most of the books already mentioned, but put me down as another Babysitter’s Club fan. I was a total book worm and read everything, but those were the ones that I seemed to identify the most with, emotionally.
Although I do want to put a plug in for another of my favorites I haven’t seen mentioned: James Herriot’s books. My grandmother started me on those.
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Oh! I loved those, too, Meghann. My short-lived “I want to be a country vet” stage was thanks to All Creatures Great and Small.
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Another vote for Anne Shirley! My great grandparents were from PEI and I’ve spent summers up there since I was born. Meaning I DEVOURED the Anne series and always thought of her as real. Still go back to the books when I need comfort . . . or a bit of imagination!
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I twisted the haysticks, too…out in the neighbor’s backyard shed. And then got in trouble for playing with matches as we burned our fire to try and keep warm on our imaginary prairie (in the middle of a Midwest July back in the mid 70′s). I loved those books.
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Oh my gosh! My friends and I also pretended to be Laura and Mary. (Before Mary went blind, of course. It’s not fun to pretend to cut hay and ride horses AND be blind.) My younger sister still complains that I would make her sit in another corner of the backyard being the sister who was sent away from home to save the family some money.
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So much fun to remember some of my favorite “people” and how I got in so much trouble for reading too much both at home and at school. Does anyone else remember “B is for Betsy” or the brilliant family from “A Wrinkle in time?”. And then there’s Alec from The Black Stallion, which I just convinced my 6th grader to read. Love this!
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