Gifting Imagination

I don't usually talk about the personal stuff here. This blog is about short stories and markets and writing. Besides, I'm a writer with a boring life but an imagination that wanders into places my feet would never take me.

And it's that imagination that I've been thinking about lately. I wonder where it comes from, why I have an abundance of it and my siblings don't, basically where did it come from, this urge to explore the corners of my mind? In the end of all my wondering, I place the blame for my overactive imagination squarely on my father.

My Dad had gypsy feet and a wandering mind. By the time I was ten years old we'd lived in five different houses and I've lived in seven more since then, though this last one seems to have taken hold me (we've lived here for 33 years). And while my feet are rooted, my imagination still moves from place to place pulling up pictures from the past to paint the canvas of my short stories.

Dad was the reader in our family. Of course, his reading material was forbidden to me (An assortment of "lurid" novels like "God's Little Acre"). But when he sat down to rest after a day's work, it wasn't the TV he turned to, it was his books. If he wanted to learn something, he found a book and poured over the pages until he knew his subject inside and out. From him I learned to love the written word, I learned there were other worlds and wonderful ideas living between the pages of books and I swallowed every word with joy. Novels or short stories, I imbibed like a drunkard.

But it wasn't just the books with my Dad, going on a trip with him was always an experience. You never knew what would capture his eye and we'd be off on a side trip to places like the Corning Glass Works or some out of the way train museum. Even a trip to Grants Department Store was an adventure. My mother went with a list and when the cart was filled with the items on her list, she was ready to leave. But with Dad, we strolled every aisle looking over the newest electronics, toys, power tools, anything that was new caught his eye and he'd study it until he knew how it worked, even buying some of the gadgets he found the most entertaining.

Summer weekends were reserved for the Drive-in movies. From Disney to the latest Liz Taylor, we saw them all on that giant screen in a parking lot full of cars. Watching with wonder from the backseat of the old Rambler station wagon, dressed in our pj's, buried in pillows and blankets, munching popcorn Dad had popped to bring along for movie snacking. From "Dumbo" to "Raintree County" and even (gasp) "God's Little Acre", we saw whole new worlds splashing through the windshield in vivid technicolor.

Yep, my old man flipped the switch on my imagination. He gave me the gift of looking at the world through books and movies. The gift of being able to marvel at and explore the world around me and the belief that I could combine the two into a world of my own making. Bless you Dad.