The Legacy of Honolulu Harry

December 3, 2020

Before I could talk, my mother named my dolls and stuffed animals. The dragon was Aloysius, the dogs were Socrates and Argyle, the baby with black hair was Zelda, and the turtle was Honolulu Harry.

When we would go into department stores, my father would make up identities for the mannikins. "That one's name is Esmerelda," he'd say. "She's being awfully still right now, but in April, she'll run the Boston Marathon." Or: "His name is Maximilian, and in real life he's an alpaca farmer."

My parents didn't do a whole lot of playing with their kids—'70s parenting culture was different than today's—so these moments stuck out as important lessons for me when my kids were young. I would imagine Madison and Ella as adults, and ask myself what I would want them to remember: A mother wrapped up in the things grownups do, or a mother who would step outside of her own adulthood and play. It was usually enough to lever me away from the computer and onto the floor.

It's been many decades since I played with Socrates and Argyle, but they're as brightly-colored in my memories as they were in real life. And when I go into Macy's, crazy names and secret identities pop into my mind unbidden. That's because those weren't just stuffed dogs and fake people, they were warm memory packages that didn't cost anything for my parents to craft.

Is "COVID closeness" wearing a little thin for your family these days? I think it is in most households. As many crave the "alone time" that is in short supply, it can be hard to summon reasons to be even closer. On the other hand, there might be some new stuffed toys, Barbies, or little LEGO men in your kids' future. If so, consider the power of some playful naming. After all, our kids will recall the COVID December holidays more vividly than others, and you want those memories to be special, even if finances are pinched. Imagination, fortunately, is super-cheap and will bring you far.

Especially from your seat on the floor.

—Deb