Imaginary everything

My father would lie on his side on the couch in front of the always-on TV. He liked us to lay on our sides on top of his side. Make sense?

And he would ask me to tell him a story from my mind. He would tell me his. I can’t recall any stories, but I remember the talking and the questions and the time we spent together. 

Recently, I started telling my son stories from my imagination. It’s become part of our nighttime routine and the last thing we talk about before he has to go to sleep. I already forgot how I brought it up and started it, but he loves it. 

He’s a bit young still to come up with his own complete stories, but he has tried a few times. Mostly, it’s me. I think of an idea, start talking and it unfolds as I speak. 

Sometimes, the stories are pretty darn good. Other times, I’m so tired I feel my brain can’t handle it.Completely  uninspired. But some days I feel I have nothing in me and then a great one pops out. 

I use the stories to make a point about something I’m trying to teach, such as being grateful or not eating too much candy. I make up stories that are just ridiculous or ones that want to make him believe anything is possible. And I encourage him to use his imagination so he learns that with it, anything really is possible.