My son has an imaginary friend named Salice ... you know, like Alice with an S. I’m not sure where he came up with that one. To the best of my knowledge, there’s no Salice on any Disney Junior or PBS Kids shows.
After doing some careful cross-examination, I’ve learned that Salice is older than my son, who is 5, but not “old enough to drive.” She has purple hair that she wears in a “braid like Elsa,” and she really, really likes soup. She also tends to show up when we’re in a hurry or when I am particularly busy or when my son has made a mess that he can’t blame on his brother. I guess I should give my kid props for creativity and imagination, but I must admit that when Salice first showed up, I was a little concerned. Did this mean my son was having a hard time with real social interactions?
Our pediatrician – and Dr. Google – were both reassuring. Having imaginary friends is a normal phase for young kids, and as long as my son seemed happy at home and had friends at school, I shouldn’t worry about it. While some children do create pretend friends out of loneliness or because something is lacking in real-life relationships, a made-up friend usually indicates a big imagination rather than big problems. Many imaginary friends bear traits of superheroes or of characters from books. Bringing that fictional person more fully into everyday life is a sign of healthy creativity. Most children who have imaginary friends are well-adjusted and outgoing and have an advanced understanding of social relationships.
Parents should be concerned and talk to their doctor when a child with a buddy that no one else can see shows no interest in playing with other kids, engages in hurtful or violent behavior, blames the friend for misconduct or seems to fear the imaginary friend.
All good. But, now that Salice is regularly with us, I have four reasons for thinking that even benign imaginary friends can be a real-life pain in the neck.
They’re annoying. While I try to extend appropriate hospitality to my kids’ friends, this one doesn’t ever leave. What do I do, call her imaginary mom and say, “Hey, get in your imaginary car and come get this kid?”
At first, all this was cute, so I played along. Big mistake. I’m now asked to set an extra place at the dinner table and help little she-who-must-not-be-seen buckle her seat belt in our minivan. (By the way, I dish up imaginary food on an imaginary plate. I don’t serve Salice real food, no matter how many times my son insists on it.)
By opening the door to this make-believe playmate, I’ve sanctioned her near-constant presence in our house. I have to watch where I walk and sit, because – naturally – this invisible kid is partial to my corner of the couch. My son’s latest move is relaying Salice’s comments on basic house rules such as “clean your room” and “we don’t stand on bookshelves.” Apparently, she thinks I need to loosen up. Whatever, kid.
Joshua Tardy, a pediatrician in San Antonio, said that imaginary playmates are very common in children age 4 to 7. He estimated that 25 to 50 percent of his patients report having an imaginary friend at some point. A 2013 study from the University of Oregon says that about 37 percent of children create an imaginary friend before age 7. As I noted, my son is 5, and Salice has been a presence only recently, so what our family is experiencing seems to be fairly ordinary. And that makes me feel somewhat better.
It’s a bit creepy. We live in a newer house and I don’t believe in ghosts, but there’s some element of “The Sixth Sense” to all this. I’m secretly afraid I’m one step away from my kid whispering, “I see dead people.” If that happens, I’ll probably have heart failure.
The first time my son mentioned Salice, he said something to the effect of “my friend said,” and I asked him a few questions. He said his friend was standing “right there” and pointed to the air.
While I tell myself that my son’s imaginary friendship is harmless, there’s a small part of me that gets the heebie-jeebies when my kid is talking to someone who’s not really there. I sometimes find myself looking extra hard to see if, in fact, someone is there.
I remind myself that what from one angle can seem creepy is, in fact, normal. My son is exercising his mind and expressing feelings and experiences he may be working through, and there’s nothing creepy about that. Yes, sometimes I lie awake at night hoping our subdivision wasn’t built on an ancient burial ground, and I have to reassure myself that this is just creative play.
Imaginary friends don’t accept responsibility. My son has blamed his imaginary friend for swiped pre-dinner cookies, anything that breaks or spills, trash that doesn’t quite make it into the bin and, once, for an entire roll of toilet paper being wasted in an attempt to fashion a superhero cape.
I know that kids this age are boundary-testers, that my son is trying to learn where the line is drawn. I get that. Maybe I’d blame my grown-up mistakes on a pretend person if I thought I’d get away with it, but I don’t want to give my child the idea that “Salice did it” is a get-out-of-jail-free card. I haven’t given him any leeway yet, but he keeps trying, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t concern me.
Pediatricians and other child experts say parents should be as accepting of imaginary playmates as safely possible. Acknowledging and learning more about a child’s imaginary friend encourages creativity. Asking questions may provide insight into what the real child is thinking and feeling. Experts say it’s not a good idea to let a child make the imaginary friend a scapegoat. (“Well, honey, maybe Salice did make that mess, but you’re going to have to get busy with cleanup.”)
Other people might make fun of my son. So far, he has good social skills and seems to be on track with age-appropriate interactions with real-life peers. I’ve never told him his purple-haired pal isn’t real, and I’ve never spoken negatively about the fact that she exists for him, even when she parks her imaginary little rear on my part of the couch or decides to come along for a trip when I’m in a hurry.
Although I’m reassured that my son’s behavior is within the boundaries of healthy development, I still worry that a teacher might treat him like “that kid” if she notices him talking to a child she can’t see. Maybe I’m overreaching, but I worry that other people, including his peers, will think he’s weird or reject him for being the kid who talks to the air.
Am I raising a child who will stand out instead of fitting in? Maybe. Right now, he’s still figuring out who he wants to be and how to present himself to the world. Right now, he’s got a purple-haired sidekick who seems to give him nothing but happiness. And while I’m still faintly uneasy about the whole thing, I remind myself that his real-life friends get on my nerves, too. At least this kid is a whole lot quieter.
It looks as if our imaginary friend is going to stick around for now. I’ll make peace with it, and in trying to learn more about her, I might just learn more about my son. I doubt Salice will be hanging around when he leaves for college.
Robbins is a Texas-based freelance writer who writes about adoption, motherhood and midlife issues.
