I’m a kid at heart. I don’t feel my age, and I hope I always remain that way. I love to dream. I love to let my mind drift with possibilities. Even on the worst days, I’m always wandering off somewhere in my head, as a child would, making my day brighter, and by extension, my life.
Sometimes, this is confused with immaturity. Is it really, though? Why do we somehow see that when you hit 18, 21, or 30, 40, etc we need to be imbued with some new characteristic to define us because we’ve reached a numerical milestone? Why do we need to leave off all of that childhood wonder, excitement, and sense of love without borders just because we’re adult now?
I grew up a lot the past few years, and I think those around me have seen it. But, at the same time, I found the part of me I thought I had lost for the better part of a decade. Always hearing how adults don’t act like this, or adults do that, or adults worry about this, and children do that, I always felt like I had to be super serious, super stressed, and otherwise embroiled in the idea that being an adult meant giving something up. Why couldn’t it have been explained as gaining something, rather than leaving something behind?
I live in a perpetual wonder. I watch people and I am eternally curious as to why they act the way they do, dress the way they do, say what they say. I see the “adult” world, and I always wonder why it is so negative. Why does it have to be that way? Why, when you grow up, does this culture and world seek to crush you?
I love to be silly. I spend my days finding new ways to raise eyebrows. I still like to daydream. I still like games I liked as a kid. I like playing. I like spending a few moments of my day not worried about bills, rules, politics.
So, on Saturdays, I’ve decided I will post about my silly things. While I’m silly most every day, I figure in a medium such as this, too much silly could be a symptom of other things. Outside of that, I’m a creature that likes organization. Putting a day designation helps.
So, first for Silly Saturdays?
Kyle the Can.
I work in a convenience store in Central New York. Basically, we are situated in a college town, and a majority of the populace, and not just college students, find their amusement in beer. One of the hottest packages is the Keystone 30 pk. Bulk of crappy beer, small price, lots of drunkenness to follow! What is not to love?
Kyle came as an advertisement from a distributer. Basically, he’s a huge Keystone beer can with arms, legs, and sometimes…accessories. He’s popped up in other establishments, but Kyle from MY work has become an integral part of our store. He’s a friend. He’s fun. He has a Facebook! Yes, Kyle, a can of beer, worked his way into social media.
My coworkers and I started giving Kyle a life of his own when we realized how popular he’d become with some of our customers. Plus, he’s rather fun looking. Who wouldn’t want to hang with him?
I, always loving a trip into the imaginative bliss, fostered a lot. And, Kyle, his life, his past, his social life, all became a part of my imagination.
Now, why? Why, ask all those adults, would you do that? It’s a styrofoam can of beer! He’s fake! He’s not real! Why play with him like an army soldier is played with?
I respond, “Why not?”
Remember, I hate having to grow up as a method to deposit off some parts of self to qualify for the next round. Kyle…He’s fun. He, to me, represents my imagination. He represents the part of me that will never grow up. He’s the what if. What if there were a can of beer that talked? What if he had social commentary on all those who bought him? What if that styrofoam can of beer sat upon his mountain of beer and watched people come in and out, in and out, and needed just one avenue to let loose?
Sometimes, it feels good to be the odd one. Coming from a person who is habitually the odd one, I embrace it where, when I was younger, I would have resented it. I don’t care if people like it. It’s me. I won’t give up the dream that I don’t know all that is real. I’m a writer. The what ifs, possibles, and dreaming is natural to me. It may not pay the bills, but then what does? I pay my bills, and I’m afforded the opportunity to dream, imagine, and create while doing it, even if it means bringing to life things. In future weeks, you will understand. But, for now, just prepare for your next Silly Saturday.