Most people start their autobiographies by thanking people like their mothers and fathers, people who have helped them become who they are today. I will start my story no differently, but perhaps I should mention there is a small twist. These beings, people I loved as though they were real, have challenged my imagination, sunk me deeper in my passion for writing, and prepared me at the age of two on how to be a good wife and mother.

My imaginary daughter, Sarah, first appeared on a gray and chilly Valentine’s Day. I marched the tot out to my mother and said, “Mama, this is my daughter, Sarah.” Sarah was such a good daughter and rarely complained, and I took her everywhere with me. That summer, I was hopping around the swimming pool on my tippy toes when I suddenly bolted from the water and ran at a dramatic pace to the beach chairs. I was highly indignant that a man had sat on Sarah! I picked her up and sat her in the chair with my beach towel. “You sat on Sarah,” I informed the man, and skipped back to play in the water, leaving my poor mother to explain to this stranger how he had sat on my imaginary daughter.

Sarah could not remain an only child forever. She was soon joined by twin brothers, Tony (age six) and Tone (age seven). These boys were BAD, and I felt that their getting a job would correct all their poor habits. Therefore, their three-year-old mother demanded they enter the work force, and the twins began their careers at a day care center.

Looking back, Bill, my husband, had the most fun and adventure of all my imaginary family members. He attended seminary and preached at a local church, he entered the 2004 Olympics in Greece as an acrobat, and he determinedly rowed his family in a canoe to Japan. Bill was a good husband and father, always aware that he needed to provide for his family. While he was in the Olympics, he also worked at a gas station to send home income, and he labored at a trampoline factory during seminary so that Sarah, Tony, Tone, and I would be well cared for. However, jobs were sometimes scare for Bill. When my imaginary family lived in Japan, there were no job opportunities, and the five of us had to catch fish for a living. The crowning jewel in Bill’s vivacious job career came when he was sent to England and given a shiny red fire truck to drive all the while being a guest of the Queen at Buckingham Palace.   How in the world would one ever progress from such a prestigious post?

Eventually, I went to kindergarten and learned the harsh reality that not everyone has an imaginary community. I also made real friends that people could actually see and did not sit on. Slowly, Sarah, Bill, Tony, and Tone faded into the background, but their stories live on. To this day, I write journals full of adventurous and daring stories while dreaming of becoming a celebrated author. However, nothing will be as enterprising as the story I wrote with Bill, Sarah, Tony, and Tone.