In 1959, American Sociologist Charles Wright Mills introduced a form of insight known as “social imagination.” To be deemed a person possessing social imagination, one must have the unique ability to view the world through imaginative thought and in turn, answer some of societies greatest questions. In order for an individual to apply social imagination, the subject must be able to” think themselves away” from daily routines and look at them anew using their personal observations to the benefit of public challenges.
The mother loves pre-summer weather. The mornings are cool, yet sunny and there is something about the soft light outside that calls to a child’s soul. It fosters their imagination and gives way to laughter. The boy, the blonde, and the brunette also seem to play more agreeably when dosed in a goodly measure of vitamin D and so when the boy asks to head outside after breakfast, the mother readily agrees the idea is a perfect way to start the day off right.
“Me, come too?” the brunette chimes in quickly. “That would be a fun idea…but you need to finish your breakfast first,” the mother reminds her. On this particular morning, the mother has elected to serve the girls hot oatmeal and the brunette is not quite certain she is on board with this idea. The brunette is having one of her more difficult mornings. In truth, the mother fears the brunette might not be acceptably agreeable for another 638 days at which point she will turn four, an age the mother personally feels is the Mecca of toddler-dome and a destination all parents of small children should aspire towards.
The blonde, sensing the brunette’s resistance, promptly bursts into song. The family is not taken aback by this action, as the blonde is often given to random moments of lyricism, a trait she has inherited from her father. “You gotta try new things, ‘cause they might taste g-oo-d,” she says in a sing songy voice, making sure to place extra emphasis on the word good for the brunette’s benefit. (This song brought to the breakfast table by the magical Daniel Tiger whom the mother finds utterly delightful and has deemed the Dr. Phil of toddlers.) Motivated, the mother is fairly certain more by the desire to go outside and participate in one of the boy’s captivating games than the blonde’s song, the brunette begins to make quick work of her cereal forgetting that just moments before, she had staged a boycott.
Watching the children eat, the mother recalls with great clarity the morning she first realized the boy might possess a vivid imagination. The boy was four years old, and as the mother poured his morning bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, the boy asked, “mom, when am I going to live with my real family?” The mother paused and blinked. For those who know the mother well, the ability to render her speechless is a truly impressive feat….the boy had done just that.
Collecting herself, the mother handed the boy his cereal and replied, “who…exactly…..is your real family, son?” The boy looked up at his mother, “well….I’m from a family of tigers (ah how sweet the mother thought)…..who live on the moon” the boy finished. The mother let a brief chuckle slip out and then quickly caught herself so as not to shatter the moment. She truly had no idea where this was actually going. “Moon tigers, huh?” she replied with a lilt in her voice. The boy, clearly thrilled his notion had not been dismissed, proceeded. “Yes, a family of tigers on the moon….and one day…because my wings hadn’t been formed yet…” the mother nods in agreement as if this was a given. “Sure, sure” she replies. “I fell off the moon” the boy continued, “and you found me and brought me home to live with you.” (The mother makes a mental note to journal this story of the moon tigers for potential future use in a children’s book.) The boy immediately shifts gears, returning to his cereal as if what he had just told his mother was by no means an out of the every day occurrence and the mother simply smiled.
The mother delights in the fact that the boy has inherited her spirit of imagination.
In truth, the mother sees a great deal of herself in the boy. As a child the mother also had a very active imagination. During her middle school years the mother actually wrote a series of children’s books that had a stunning readership of about 13 kids. Additionally, in the hours she and her sisters found themselves outside each day, the mother was often given to inventing games both her siblings and the neighborhood children seemed eager to play. Much like his mother, the boy has always been a very creative child, often drifting into a world of his own making. Whether acting out a scene from Star Wars, pretending to be a Marvel character, or simply lost in a game of his own creation often involving double handed weaponry, the boy has always been able to entertain himself for hours on end. The mother wishes the girls possessed this equal dedication to creative, solo play, but for now she will happily take their thrill of being included in one of the boy’s games.
The mother loves that the boy has a contagious spirit of imagination.
Taking the last bites of this morning’s cereal the boy rises from the table to carry his bowl to the sink. Looking back over his shoulder he says, “mom, can I go outside now?” The mother agrees and he burst out the door much like a racehorse at the Kentucky Derby, energized, spirited and filled with possibility. Upon entering the play area in the back yard, his first stop is the trampoline because honestly what doesn’t scream 7:14 on a Friday morning like trampolining. He bounces and flips happily as he waits for his sisters to join him.
As soon as the girls finish their breakfast they make their way outside, totally disregarding the mother’s pleadings to put on shoes. The baby presses her face against the glass of the patio door looking out at her older siblings wishing she were bigger and could join in their fun. The mother glances out her kitchen window noting the game the boy has crafted seems to be comprised of Boochie balls, the legs of a cornhole board, a beach towel and seemingly an intricate scoring system that likely only the boy understands and will ultimately, not surprising to the mother but most certainly unexpected by the sisters, lead to the boy’s declared victory.
Not too long after, the sisters break off and begin to play their own game, and the boy returns to his land of imagination, entertaining himself with the legs of a bean bag toss game he appears to be using as two unidentified weapons for nearly an hour before having to catch his ride to school.
The mother is proud the boy has embraced a spirit of imagination.
The mother watches as the boy’s ride backs out of the driveway and she waves. In truth the school environment has been a bit more of a challenge for her imaginative boy than she had hoped. The mother had determined, that in spite of being younger for his grade, the boy was academically ready to start school and felt that waiting a year would not serve him well, and so she sent him. Perhaps after enduring the process called Northern Virginia Kindergarten registration, for good or for bad, the mother felt she could not change her mind.
For those that live in normal regions of the country the mother enviously feels they have been spared from the horror that is a Northern Virginia registration morning. It involves camping chairs, cold temperatures, good shoes, a stein of coffee, a bladder of steel, a birth certificate, loan documents, medical forms, transportation forms, hours of waiting, hundreds of edgy parents just sure if they can’t get their child into their local school they will have to pay for therapy due to the fact that their precious offspring wont be able to ride the bus with their neighborhood companions, and a stadium pillow for the hours you will sit on the bleachers waiting for your number to be called. All for a process that takes 7 minutes you likely have to invest a minimum of 4 hours of time to successfully complete Northern Virginia Kindergarten registration. (The mother makes a mental note to develop a badge system for parents not unlike the boy scouts and issue a patch with a cross eyed, rabid dog as the symbol and the words kindergarten registrant as the title for parents who navigate the experience successfully.)
At the boy’s first parent teacher meeting, the mother who had falsely believed the boy had been doing well in his first year of school after seeing such wonderful improvement in several areas, was shocked to discover that the teacher was concerned the boy, not keeping up with his classmates and not always completing his assignments, was more inclined to drift off into a world of his own imagination. This was a wake up call for the mother who would never admit she was an over achiever but in truth knows the boy’s performance is a direct reflection on her ability to manage the pack of children she and the father elected to have.
The mother is concerned the boy might fall behind due to his spirit of imagination.
Thankfully, as the school year rolled on, the mother worked tirelessly with the boy and most likely simply due to maturity, the boy became better at curbing his tendencies to mentally wander. In part the mother was a little sad that at such a young age the world was already attempting to alter the boy’s creative spirit. The mother believes the boy possess a superhero level of social imagination and is determined to cultivate this strength.
At bedtime that night, the boy and the blonde choose The Legend of Sleepy Hallow as their literature selection and as the mother reads the Washington Irving classic, using voices for each character, the boy and the blonde listen with rapt attention as if this is the 1st rather than 71st time they have heard the tale.
As the mother tucks the boy under his covers, she kisses him on the forehead and thinks how extraordinary the boy truly is. He is creative like his mother. He is focused like his father. He protects his sisters. He is kind to his playmates. His enthusiasm for life is unmatched. He is grateful for small things. He is complimentary. He is empathetic. He was the mother’s first child and thus gave her, her esteemed role as the mother, and though parents are never supposed to admit such things his place in her heart is cherished and he is her favorite son. The boy is her beloved amalgamation, a combination of the best of both his mother and his father.
And as the boy literally talks his mother out of the room, as if suddenly worried he might have forgotten to share a thought or feeling from the day. The mother stops him and says, “son, you need to close your eyes and get your rest. It’s time for bed.” The boy quickly replies, “mom, when I grow up am I going to become someone who loves to write stories too.” The mother smiles, knowing her commitment to cultivate his social imagination, turns out the light and replies, “I think you will my son. I think you will. I love you.”
The Motherhood in Technicolor Memo: Each child has been given a unique collection of strengths and as parents it is our primary role to help our children navigate and cultivate the essence of who they are. It is easy to see how children much like us would be simpler to care for and tempting to try and eliminate traits in our children, which differ greatly from our own. However we must strike a balance, realizing that our children are born with very distinct personalities and if we can help them to navigate the world by being the best version of themselves, they might actually teach us something and we might just find we were the ones who needed to change.
Summer Smith is a speaker, writer, and motherhood blogger. She and her family are currently navigating the suburbs of Northern Virginia. As the mother to four young children, Summer maintains her sanity thanks to her sense of humor, copious amounts of coffee, and Amazon Prime. Maya Angelou once said, when reflecting on her childhood, that her mother left an impression like technicolor stars in the midnight sky. Influenced by these words, Summer blogs at her website Motherhood in Technicolor, and can also be found on her Motherhood in Technicolor Facebook page.
One thought on “The Social Imagination Amalgamation”
Just beautiful