For those of you who read my blog that don't know what a Wolpertinger
is... Feel free to take that link or read this brief description:
A Wolpertinger is a fictional creature of imagination. There are several variations of the animal, but most involve part rabbit mixed with part something else. They have appeared in literature, folk lore, and video games in varying shapes, sizes and with varying functionality.
Now, while the specific creature is a lovely little thing, and the idea of writing solely about them is rather entertaining, this blog will really cover a more broad view of the imagination and specifically imaginary friends.
What is a myth? Is it not some thing, some love child born of the dreams and thoughts of man? Man has faith in things, so many things. Mankind has embraced religions a-plenty, superstition, science, theories of the workings of our universe, and moral codes out the wazoo. Many people have imaginary friends, especially in their youth.
I am twenty-two years old, and must confess to having a number of conversations with solely myself even in modern nights. I will literally sit there and talk to myself "Hrm, this could turn out badly." "Then again, it could turn out well." "But what would your parents think?" "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." Perhaps I'm a little insane. They are rarer in recent nights than they were in my youth for one simple reason... In my youth there was someone, or often something
, talking back to me.
According to my mother the first of my imaginary friends was... well... a rather mob-ish sort of friend. I had monkeys. Yes monkeys. Lots of little monkeys. Each no taller than two inches in height as I personally recall. When Mother and I went places and we were climbing into the car if she was too quick I would literally yell, "NO!!! MOM!! Don't close the door on my Monkeys!!" And.. well.. she would wait. *Chuckles, blushing a little.* These monkeys were the culprits in many of those things which young people hate...
They were responsible for the tangling of my hair when I didn't brush it frequently. I pleadingly explained, I could not get them to stop playing in it! They were the reason I lost things, you see the youngest among them were quite tricky (there were somewhere between 40 and 100 monkeys at any given time, mind you) and liked to move things. They were also the culprits who raided the freezer for the popsicles... Grave actions which were completely beyond my control.
In later days these moneys gained a pair of apes. I often thought of them like Grape Ape. These Apes were largely responsible for changing the traffic lights. They flipped a switch on the lights you see, to turn them green. Never mind when we sat through full light cycles, the Apes had to take breaks too, you know?
As the years continued my monkeys changed and evolved, welcoming others int their midst. I am fairly certain that I held council with an elven princess, a talking lightbulb, and a pixie much like a male version of Tinkerbell at some point in time.
Sadly, as years continued, these friends of mine began to fade from my everyday life. My conversations with myself became more and more just that.. Conversation bounced back and forth between two sides of logic... That which I inherited from my father - which we shall call 'true' logic - and that which I inherited from my mother - which we shall call 'female' logic. No more did I have the input and thoughts of my many little friends of varying intelligences, shapes, and sizes, but rather was restricted to my own opinions.
Yes, growing up is sad. There comes a time when you realize the Easter Bunny has as much to do with hiding eggs as the dog who begs for scraps under your dinner table, the Tooth Fairy pays for your teeth in money from your parents' wallet, and Santa Clause and his reindeer are too heavy to land on your rooftop. How sad that day was for me, but, of course.. There is this part of me...
The same part of me deep inside which still so enjoys children's stories. The same part of me that gets completely immersed when my niece and nephew start playing with me. The years roll away as we sit on the floor and tinker with their cars and toys and my heart becomes young again. Somewhere in the part of me there must still be the tiny little moneys who tangled my hair, the lightbulb who spoke to me when I was writing essays (particularly my descriptive essay on a Braum's Banana Split), and the elven princess whom I so longed to emulate in my grown years.
They linger there, in that deep, faithful place in my heart. Their voices ever have an impact on my life. While the analytical side of me does sit back and say "Their voices - merely my voice in different accents in my mind", the young part argues "Still unique vantage points and opinions, drawn from inside me or from without makes no difference, they were their own."
So the question I pose to you, oh readers of my blogs, is... Does your