my imagination

when i was little, lets say early elementary,  i can remember getting in trouble and being sent to my room.  i had a little brother which meant if i was sent to my room then so was he.  this memory is after the divorce.  i can remember only 1 time when my father was in that house and he was asleep on the sofa.  after that one time that i remember i don't remember ever seeing him in that house again.  hmmm.  makes me stop and think; i never looked at it that way before.  but still.  we were little. and i would sit in the doorway of my bedroom and look down the hall straight into my brother's room.  i remember how much he played and played while we were "in trouble" and confined to our rooms.  i remember sitting there and wondering how he could PLAY.  it was like it never phased him to be sent to his room.  it didn't matter.  he just kept PLAYING.  and i would just sit there in my doorway.  i'm sure that as many cars and trucks that he had i had just as many dolls and accessories for them.  but i would just sit in my doorway.  and watch.  it wasn't until later on in my life and after i had cameron that i realized i didn't have an imagination.  i didn't know how to PLAY with cameron as he grew before my very eyes.  but somehow he did.  and there i was.  nothing.  i was a housewife and mother.  my house was immaculate but my imagination wasn't.  cameron's father was never home and when cameron was in school i was alone all day.  and most of the time cameron and i were alone until late in the evening.  so there i was in my late twenties and i had to teach myself imagination.  i look back at that little girl sitting on the hardwood floor.  in that doorway.  lost.  i don't remember what i did after we could come out of our rooms.