I don’t know if I always had a over abundance of it, but I have always had enough. As a child, I remember playing down at the creek for hours and hours, we fought germans, caught bandits, yes... even shot indians. I remember a clubhouse in a friends backyard becoming a B-17, a frontier fort or what ever we needed. My Imagination was always there for me.
I remember playing by myself, amongst the 100 or so dirt piles that would soon fill in a swamp behind a nearby gas station and all I had was a broom stick that magically transformed itself into what ever was needed, a musket, a spear or a machine-gun. I still can feel the crisp fall air and the smell of leaves and fresh earth as I played.
The Monkey bars behind Medill Elementary... Cold steel, built over blacktop... served as a tank and a spaceship ( and a source of many cuts and scrapes) to our young minds, minds that had the amazing ability to warp reality into anything we wanted. Many wars were fought around (and in fact in) that school.
I also remember Imagination as a friend when you had no one else to play with, the friend you addressed as “Buddy” when you carried his wounded body into a foxhole or “squire” as they brought you your lance to fight a evil knight while you were mounted on your charger (made by Schwin).
I have been transported to these times, long gone, at odd moments in my life. During a reenactment on a Autumn day, I remember finding a sunny spot shielded from the cold wind that made think of the many forts we had built. As a Den Leader, watching the kids play at camp, where a good branch can bring a smile and hours of fun defeating Ninjas.
I hope, even in old age, I can loss my self in my imagination, now it manifests itself in the images I see as I read a book, the stories I tell or the songs I listen to, but it is still there, a warm place to go in a sometimes all to cold world.