First the cat was named Bingo. Then it was named Bowie. By the time I left, it was named Bobo.
I stood around the craft table on Monday night at Fairview Elementary School. I sucked in the familiar aroma of peeling wax from the Crayola crayons. My hands practically took on the same texture of the impossibly sticky Elmer’s glue as I fastened colored popsicle sticks to printer paper crafts. I was merely an assistant to the artist, though. Holly from first grade was the mastermind.
Holly brought Bingo to life through a series of complex maneuvers with safety scissors, washable marker, Scotch tape and a few popsicle sticks. She drew some long whiskers, beady eyes and pointy ears on white paper. The cat’s nose was bright pink.
She haphazardly cut the cat’s outline from the paper, like a mad genius on the brink of a discovery. She glued its face to a popsicle stick, and hoisted her creation proudly, like a true Dr. Frankenstein. But Bingo was not abominable, he was as adorable as two-dimensional paper cats come.
[Related: COLUMN: Growing pains: learning to dance alone in college]
One by one the memories from a lifetime ago came rushing back. A little girl in a khaki skirt scribbling on paper, smudging the washable marker because her palms were clammy from the triumph of the recess soccer game victory. A lifetime ago, but really only thirteen years ago. It’s easy to forget that time and it’s hard to swallow when you remember it all again.
A lifetime ago, when an over-active imagination was nearly impossible to stifle. When the gears of creativity turned freely in her head and needed no oiling. When the simplicity of cutting Bingo the Cat from cardstock felt like life’s work. When changing the cat’s name three times wasn’t due to indecision, but due to freedom of choice. Due to the possibility of doing anything in the world.
Holly taught me a lot about myself on Monday. Or maybe she just reminded me that I came from somewhere a long time ago. It was good to go back to that place.
Humans are a mystery to me. Every time I think I’ve learned all there is to know, a Bingo the cat comes along and shows me that I’m still cutting shapes from white paper, bringing my imagination to life in ways that don’t always make sense.
[Related: COLUMN: Growing pains: spilled milk and great love - what I learned from my grandparents]
I think the best thing Holly taught me was that my imagination was still in my back pocket. All I had to do was grab it. I think Holly taught me the playground outside the classroom window was a lot like life. And there’s no right way to play. Bingo, Bowie or Bobo – it doesn’t matter. As long as the cat has a name, it’s all fun and good.
I think Bingo the Cat was a masterpiece. I hope Holly frames it next to her degree one day. I hope she always uses her imagination. We could all learn a lot from Holly.
Audrey Vonderahe (she/her) is a sophomore studying journalism and criminal justice. Her cat was named Tiger.
