A few years ago, I worked as a teaching assistant at a small private school. Periodically, I was asked to go into the Preschool or the Advance Preschool to work with the children there. I have always enjoyed working with little kids. They typically are very inquisitive and amazingly imaginative. There is something wonderful about the imaginations and innocence of children. Something disturbed me while I worked with these three, four, and five year olds. They lacked imagination.
When they would play, they felt the need to say, “pretend…” followed by whatever circumstance they wanted to be playing. No one in their right mind would think that five-year-old Tommy and four-year-old Anna were actually married with children. Instead of just playing, they had to add, “Pretend you are my wife and Ellie is our baby.” No one in their right might would look out at 80 degree weather and think it was a blizzard, but the children would say, “Okay, and pretend that there is lots of snow.” These children all had homes, so what was the point of saying, “Pretend we don’t have a home or food for our baby.” They add, “so, pretend, that we have to beg for food and comfort.” Not all of my students would do this. Some of them would just play, sometimes playing pretend with me. The children who said “pretend” all played together and they couldn’t play well with those who did not.
I mean, I am glad they are playing. My siblings and friends, at that age, never narrated every move that we made. We never acted as if we had to say “pretend”, we knew we were pretending. I used to write my mother notes at seven years old thanking her for taking in the poor desolate orphan off the streets. Was my mother some generous benefactress? No, she was my mother. Was I a street urchin? No, I was the first born daughter of my parents. I loved to pretend that I was an orphan. My mother would play along. We never said, “pretend”. And, today, my children never say “pretend” when they are playing.
When my mother would do my hair on Sunday Mornings, she would pretend that she was a French stylist running a beauty boutique. My mother is a nurse, not a hair dresser. She is not French. I, in no way, had the style, grace, or beauty of a runway model. Did any of that matter? No. Did anyone get confused over reality and pretend? No. We knew reality and we knew pretend. We were playing, that’s all.
My sister has a family she babysits for with three little girls. They love Frozen. They pretend their mother is Elsa and they are Elsa’s babies. They pretend that my sister is “Auntie Anna” who comes to play with them. This mother pretends with her children. My sister plays pretend with the little girls. When something goes wrong or they tire of this game, they revert to their true selves and know they are not really Elsa’s babies.
I wonder why the children use the word “pretend” to clarify that they really were not mad scientists who learned how to make rockets out of actual rocks? Perhaps they were not read to enough? Perhaps their parents did not take the time to kindle the spirit of play in their children? Perhaps they have watched too many cartoons where the main character of the Disney cartoon explains every move he or she makes? I am not sure, but I shudder when I hear the word “pretend” when children are playing. Why can they not just play?
