Okay. Christmas was nearly 6 months ago. We stuffed our pie-holes like there was no tomorrow, all the while reassuring ourselves that it was a temporary binge and would be easily offset by the hard work and (shallow) promises we establish after New Year’s. In spite of the economy we managed to lay out enough cash—or stack the credit card—to placate our children for yet another year. The block sets, the Legos, the personal TV’s; the board games and bicycles, the squeezy dolls and basketballs, all great gift items, and loved for at least an acceptable period of time.
One of my favorite scenes of this much-ballyhooed holiday comes from the movie A Christmas Story, where Randy, the younger of the two children, lies asleep, nearly buried among the flotsam and jetsam of all that the holiday offers. Many parents witness this tradition and snicker at the familiarity of it, but I see something in that particular moment (and hundreds of thousands of others playing out in a similar fashion around the world) that most people don’t. The gift of imagination. And no, it’s not in the Jr. Astrophysics Set or the Chemical Engineering for Ballerinas Gift Pack. It’s in the boxes. Or perhaps I should say, it is the boxes.
Yes, the boxes. Those corrugated containers that we often don’t give another thought to, save for “Who is going to get rid of this mess?” offer endless possibilities to the budding Shuttle Commander, NASCAR driver, architect, or city planner. Toss in some plastic lids for gauges, a few toilet paper or paper towel rolls (vents, handles, and exhaust pipes), some duct tape (for repairs and assembling), aluminum foil (used is always fun), and a few magic markers, and you have a lifestyle.
It’s quite likely (some say for certain) that I was dropped on my head as a child, but whenever a gift was opened or an appliance delivered, I would be on the empty box like e. coli on a room-temperature piece of steak. That brownish-gray cube held more adventure for me than any toy possibly could, because it represented the chance to become anything, and take me with it. If not a towering apartment building/center of commerce for my otherwise mangled toy soldiers (they were evicted from many places sadly), it could quickly become the cockpit of a P-51 Mustang, engaged in perilous maneuvers over the coast of Norway.
And not just one cardboard box. In no time at all I could gather and construct a large megalopolis, or a maze, or a series of well-intentioned though flimsy jails for my little sister.
Though incarceration of siblings should probably be frowned upon, begin to give some thought to collecting these ubiquitous devices of storage and shipping. Be on the lookout for deliveries in your neighborhood, and ask the drivers or the recipients for the leftover containers. Or, you can always go to a local big-box store such as a Best Buy, a Lowe’s, a Home Depot or Costco, and just ask them for some boxes. A recycling center is always a good place to look as well. Be sure to return the product of your child’s imagination to the recycling stream, after photos are taken of course.
Work with your charges on their project, especially when it comes to things like scissors and utility knives (which work wonderfully), but let the kids have the final say in the design. The more they engage in the project, the more they will understand and learn. And give some thought to leaving the “project” around for a few days. It’s quite possible it will be added to and embellished further.
If you’d like to read more about cardboard boxes and all that they hold (that was a joke), check out CreatingCleverCastles & Cars: FromBoxesandOtherStuff by Mari Rutz Mitchell. And while you’re at it, save a box for yourself. 😉
Teach. Learn. Enjoy!
