My 5-year-old has conjured up an imaginary companion named Salina—think Alice, but with an S. I’m baffled as to where he plucked that name from; as far as I know, there’s no Salina in any of the popular kids’ shows.
After some thorough questioning, I’ve discovered that Salina is older than my son, but not quite “old enough to drive.” She sports purple hair styled in a braid reminiscent of Elsa from Frozen and has an insatiable love for soup. While I admire my child’s creativity, I can’t help but feel that this imaginary friend is a genuine nuisance.
1. It’s Just Plain Annoying
I try to be accommodating to my children’s friends, but this one never leaves! What am I supposed to do, call her imaginary mother and say, “Hey, can you come pick up your kid in your imaginary minivan?” Initially, I thought it was cute, but boy, was that a mistake. Now, I’m frequently asked to set an extra place at the dinner table or help little “she-who-must-not-be-named” buckle her seatbelt in our minivan. And yes, you guessed it—I serve up imaginary food on an imaginary plate. I really try not to let it go overboard.
By allowing this make-believe friend into our lives, I’ve inadvertently invited her to stay permanently. I find myself tiptoeing around the house because apparently, this invisible child has claimed the corner of the couch that I usually sit on. Lately, my son has taken to relaying Salina’s “thoughts” on my house rules—basic directives like “clean your room” and “we don’t stand on bookshelves.” Apparently, she believes I should ease up a bit. Whatever, brat.
2. It’s a Little Creepy
Our home is relatively new, and while I don’t subscribe to ghost stories, there’s a hint of The Sixth Sense in all of this. I secretly worry that my son could one day declare, “I see dead people.” If that happens, I might just faint. While I reassure myself that this imaginary friendship is normal, there’s a nagging feeling each time I see him talking to someone who isn’t really there. Or is she? Not going to lie—it sends chills down my spine. And yes, I lay awake at night wondering if our neighborhood was built on an ancient burial ground.
3. He Shifts Blame
My son’s imaginary buddy has been blamed for everything from sneaking cookies before dinner to breaking toys, and once, for wasting an entire roll of toilet paper while trying to make a superhero cape (note to self: don’t use TP for that!). I understand that kids test boundaries, and I get that my son is learning where the lines are drawn. I know I could blame my adult mishaps on a fictional character if I thought I could get away with it, but I don’t want to give him the impression that “my friend did it” is an acceptable excuse. I haven’t given in just yet, but he keeps trying, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t concern me.
4. I Worry About Judgment
So far, my son has shown good social skills and seems well-adjusted with his real peers. I’ve never told him that Salina isn’t real, nor have I criticized his imaginative play, even when she plops down on my favorite spot on the couch or joins us uninvited in the minivan when I’m in a rush. I recognize that for some children, imaginary friends are perfectly normal.
I do wonder, though, if he feels there’s something lacking in his life. Would he create a friend if everything were perfect? What if his teacher treats him differently or sends him to the school counselor for passing imaginary notes in class? I might be overthinking it, but I worry that other children will see him as “the weird kid” who talks to thin air.
Navigating the complexities of raising a child who embraces uniqueness instead of conformity is a bittersweet journey, and honestly, I’m not sure if my son will always be that way. He’s still figuring out his identity and how he wants to make his mark on the world. Right now, he’s doing that with a whimsical, purple-haired companion who brings him joy. And while I’m still a bit unsettled about the situation, I remind myself that his real friends can be annoying too. At least this imaginary one is a lot quieter.
For now, it seems Salina is here to stay. Perhaps one day, she’ll drift away, but until then, I’ll just have to manage. After all, she’s his friend, not mine. Now, if only I could shake off those visions of eerie twins from The Shining chanting “come play with us, Danny, forever and ever” from invading my thoughts.
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Summary
Navigating the challenges posed by my son’s imaginary friend, Salina, has been a mixed bag of annoyance, creepiness, and concern for how he will be perceived by others. While I try to be supportive and embrace his creativity, I can’t help but feel a little exasperated by her constant presence. Yet, I remind myself that this whimsical companion brings him joy, and perhaps that’s what truly matters.