Bigger Than My Body

My imagination was completely natural and untamed when I was a kid, and my hands were always busy taking things apart and reconstructing them. I spent hours in the garage watching my dad build things out of wood and metal, and hours in the kitchen watching my mom build things out of flour and sugar. I was fascinated by the work of creation, no matter what medium was used, and found endless inspiration watching it happen.

My brother and I had more than enough toys, but our parents were not the kind to buy us whatever we wanted. It was an unspoken rule in our house that we did not ask Mom and Dad to buy us things or give us money. So we didn’t. Being both a dreamer and a fiercely determined child, I spent many school days staring out the window, imagining how I could possibly craft the shiny toys I saw in the store myself. It didn’t matter how intricately designed a toy was – I fully believed I could fashion it with my two small hands. As a result, my childhood room was a trash hole. I was a packrat because I believed if I could collect enough junk, I would have the right materials to make these toys. I had bits of plastic and cloth and the cardboard tubes from toilet paper rolls stashed in every cranny of the room and under the bed with the dust bunnies. I was very protective of my trash and refused to throw any of it away because my ideas and aspirations were all wrapped up in the mess. The trash was sacred.

Sometimes I would draw out detailed blueprints plotting my course of action, and once in a while I would actually get around to putting something together – like the time I made clothes for my doll Pedro using scraps of felt and a mini-stapler, or the time I attempted to engineer a light saber out of an old dowel rod. Usually, I would come to the realization ten minutes into the project that what I was making looked nothing like what I saw in the store, toss aside the whole mess, and return to my room to draw up more blueprints. I remember feeling such frustration that my hands couldn’t produce what was in my mind. There was some kind of disconnect between my brain and my body. I guess I learned early on the limitations of my physical self and realized in a very simple way how much bigger I am than my body. But the limitations of resources and ability didn’t stop me from imagining and dreaming and creating, and they still don’t, and that is the important thing, really.