The Republic of Imagination

Sam doesn't know it yet but he’s been living inside of great works of literature. I can’t help doing it; he seems to draw my mind to the words and images of what I’ve read.

Before he was born, I imagined he was baptized in the River of Oblivion--Lethe. Those words from the Aenid coming back to me

…at Lethe's stream they are drinking the waters that quench man's troubles, the deep draught of oblivion . . . They come in crowds to the river Lethe, so that you see, with memory washed out they may revisit the earth above.

And then later, while his eyes were so fresh with forgetfulness, Sam seemed to roll, toddle, and walk through this world in a dream. It was not time for the life of imagination because the world was hardly real for him. When we took a walk to the post office or to the corner and I pointed to the trees, I was reminded of One Hundred Years of Solitude:

The world was so recent that many things lacked names, and in order to indicate them it was necessary to point.

Sam seemed to inspire these literary allusions and yet I had to tuck away those literary references and proceeded on; wondering if and when we could visit together what Azar Nafisi call "The Republic of Imagination."

But then, most recently he made some developmental jump. My literal boy seemed to find his Avatar (I mean by Avatar an embodiment or personification)—a knight. He created shields out of lids and every stick he picked up on our walks was his sword. His Aunts and Uncles bought him a castle last year for his birthday and this year he’s been given Merlin, Vultures, and Elfin Princesses as gifts. When I awake in the morning, I hear him moving the characters around the castle making up stories for him. We watched The Knight Story and he dressed up in his Halloween knight costume to joust with Heath Ledger.

For 15 years, I've owned a Greek Mythology book for children—never reading it, but keeping it for the day I could share it with my child. Lately he seemed ready for Medusa and Apollo. As opened this book, so long in my possession but so newly opened that the binding cracked, I felt something open up inside of me as if it wasn’t his imagination that might be allowed to emerge but mine too. I've dreamed about sharing this with someone and my moment had arrived. But as all things with Sam, as soon as I get too self-absorbed, he changes direction. As I began to read the first paragraph, I felt a foam sword being swiped along my shoulder. Sam warned me, “I’ll cut your neck off.”

If we were going to enter the "Republic of Imagination" together, I may be the tour guide, but I needed to rethink who would be holding the passports.