A girl flits into the room wearing a yellow Belle dress, purple cheetah print high heels and pink sunglasses with fur at the corners. Her sister tears apart teal and silver duct tape, affixes it to a shoe box and creates a seascape. My girls know how to play.
|A doll elevator|
|The doll and her ladybug enter the elevator|
|The elevator in action|
|Cardboard and aluminum foil choker|
|Getting in character|
Yet even tween aged A came home from her first lock in this morning excited about the game night. One of the things she thought noteworthy? That they played a spy game in the church sanctuary. "Yes, this space is sacred," A was told, "but no more sacred than many other spaces. Just don't break anything." What this wise youth minister gets is that play is sacred, too. A book I'm reading puts it this way:
Play keeps us attached to the sacred, the imaginary, the human. We grow bigger, become larger entities, in the act of play. We become creators more than creatures.
I've learned from watching my children play. Play doesn't come natural to me. It's something I need to learn to allow myself to do, need to train myself to want. I take life far too seriously. But I've been playing in my own way over the last week:
Is summer fun for you? Are you watching your children play? Are you making time to play? Play isn't just for children, you know.