The Stuff of Masculinity
I had my own “Hobbes” during my formative years. He’s likely stashed away somewhere in my childhood home. That’s a lie. I know exactly where he is. Unless he was stolen. I haven’t looked in a while. Who would or could steal childhood memories? I’ve considered saving some of the toys I played with and passing them on to the eventual next generation of my family. They’d probably want new stuff though. I know I would.
I never had Calvin’s complete immersion into imagination, but I remember trying to make believe that I did sometimes. There’s nothing weird about pretending to believe your own fabrications is there? Maybe I’ve been an adult too long and have forgotten what imagination really means.
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