I have a fairly active imagination. As a kid (okay, also as a teenager and possibly as recently as yesterday) I spent the vast majority of my time pretending to be an NBA superstar in my backyard. I would lower the goal, throw down some ridiculous dunks, and create astronomical stats to attach to my fame. Also from an early age my imagination took shape in writing and storytelling. In the 3rd grade my teacher asked each member of the class to write a short story (meaning, two paragraphs to a full page) based on a picture that she showed us. After heavy editing and cutting down on the sheer bulk of my work, I turned in a 12 page response that blew Ms. Stone’s mind, as I’m sure it came nowhere near to what she has anticipated receiving. My imagination took hold.
Imagination is a funny thing. It seems to be something we, as a society, value in children but frown upon later in life, save for a very few professions that require it. As we grow older, most of us learn that the things we imagine should be kept a little closer to the vest than say, displaying it for all to see in a 12 page “short” story. Daydreams are meant to be kept inside and eventually, I think many lose the real ability to imagine whatsoever. Perhaps the Imagination Chip (similar to the Emotion Chip that robots have in just about any sci-fi movie) is reactivated when we have kids who want bedtime stories that go beyond whatever’s happening on Dora the Explorer. But for many of us the imagination is left behind.
Sometimes I struggle with this. My imagination is often fervent in its desire to spring forth in the oddest of ways. At times I feel like John Dorian in “Scrubs” trying desperately to contain the absurd thoughts that sometimes run through my mind. Joking is the best remedy for this affliction and fortunately I am currently surrounded by people who are appreciative of what I like to call “Insane Hypothetical Situation Jokes” wherein I throw out an absurd scenario in which a person might say or do something even more absurd, usually at the expense of another friend within the group. Still there are times when I feel like the Logical section of my brain is in cahoots with my mouth to keep the Crazy Imagination section of my brain at bay.
I thought about this recently when a devastating tragedy took place on my street. As I was leaving my house for work one morning (okay, it was closer to noon) I saw a dead cat in the street. Sad, I thought. Upon turning the first corner I caught sight of a small rabbit that had been running around the neighborhood and it, too, was dead in the street. Also sad, I thought. As I turned the next corner, I was confronted with yet another body, this of a squirrel that had met an untimely end. That’s right, dear readers. On the same night, within a 20 yard radius, three animals of different species met their demise. In my mind, there were only three possible answers for this blood bath:
1.) It was just an unlucky night to be a loose animal on my street. On three separate occasions, three separate cars had inadvertently run over three separate animals. This seemed to be too coincidental for my liking;
2.) Some kid (or potentially my next door neighbor in a drunken stupor) had intentionally tracked down and killed these animals in a night of “Natural World Terror.” This also seemed unlikely, as I found it hard to believe that someone was walking around our quiet street, silently offing unsuspecting animals;
3.) The more likely conclusion, as my imagination would tell me, was that the previous evening had marked some sort of battle within the Animal Kingdom of Suburban Fort Worth. In my mind, a scene played out that was part “Gangs of New York”, part street-fight from “Anchorman”, as the cats, rabbits, and squirrels of the neighborhood waged war against each other. Much like the Bloods, Crips, and Latin Kings, the three species had grown tired of sharing their territory and had decided to do something about it. The fight likely began at some pre-appointed time after the humans had gone to bed and these three souls were the casualties that had been left behind as all sides retreated to their hideouts at day break. No doubt cats, rabbits, and squirrels all across the city were pouring their 40s on the ground in remembrance of their fallen comrades.
In the Imagination section of my brain, that story made some sort of twisted sense to me. At the same time, the Logic section was kicking the crap out of the Imagination section, like a bully would a nerd. Short torn from the beating and hair wet from the swirly my Logic section had handed out, my Imagination section quickly shrunk away to cry in its room, while vowing to someday be avenged.
Perhaps that was the wrong way to go. Sure, people might think I’m slightly saner than I might actually be (though that’s likely gone now thanks to this insipid blog). But in the end, is it really that great of a thing that Logic continues to rule my brain the way Mike Dexter rules Huntington Hills High School in “Can't Hardly Wait”? Sometimes I wonder if life in general wouldn’t be a little better if we were all a little more in touch with the Imagination section of our brains. Perhaps I should have turned the Cat-Rabbit-Squirrel War of 2009 into a 12 page short story like I would have in the 3rd grade. Surely Pixar has a use for something like that before its next feature film.
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11 years ago
