Head in a Box

I used to sleep with my head in a box.

It was a large cardboard box that once housed some household item that had no relevance to the hours of fun it provided me. My box was no ordinary box. I had artfully decorated not only the outside, but the inside with all types of colorful designs. I measured and cut out a hole large enough to slip my head through (think of the opening to a dog house) and two holes on either side to slip my arms through. I placed this box on my top bunk and secretly snuck in a flashlight, some books and some more art supplies. When it was time to go to bed, I found a way out - a loop hole to my parent's dreaded rule to "go to sleep" at a decent hour! I could slip my head and two arms through the box holes, turn on my flashlight, and read or draw or do whatever it is kids do with a large, used box. The possibilities were endless. My imagination took over and it was just me and my box.

"Ah-ha!" I thought, "I don't have to go to sleep. No one will ever know that I am awake because I have this box."

It turns out I really wasn't that clever. Mom knew of my plan and thought it too funny to ruin my little hideout slash anti-nighttime plan. She even knew about the flashlight. My box looked like a flying saucer on my top bunk with a beam of light seeping out of the bottom. And there I was, being abducted by my own crafty cleverness with my head stuck securely inside a brown box.

This sounds weird to most of you - okay all of you - but here is the cool thing: It wasn't weird to my mom. She could have easily flipped out and yanked the box off of my head and thrown it in the dumpster. Who wants a daughter who sleeps with her head in a box? It's not something you share with pals at work or church. Outsiders may even view it as child abuse.

"Geesh, Judy," the would say, "It's kinda mean to let your kid sleep in a box. I mean, what if she suffocates."

My younger sister Molly didn't find it odd either. She slept in the bunk beneath me. She was used to my artsy antics. Nothing phased her.

I think of this story every now and then when I watch my own daughter play. I was reminded of my childhood when she excitedly hurried over to the long, rectangular cardboard box her daddy threw on the ground after unpacking it. At only 15-months-old, I watched her "ooooh" and "aaah" at the size of this box. She opened and closed the lids, tried to slip inside, and eventually realized it was much more fun to place Mommy's Tupperware inside of it. She would have played with that box for hours, except it was soon time to go to bed.

NO! I did not place the box inside her crib. But I did think about whether I would allow it if she were a little older. Am I going to be a cool mom and allow my daughter to sleep with her head in a box? Will I recognize her for who she is and know the difference between "weird" and "artistic"? Will I know my daughter as well as my mom knew and knows me? And if I do, will I go against the grain to give my daughter that outlet that she needs, such as painting the inside of a box and placing it on top of her head? My mother knew this was odd. Even my grandfather asked one night, "Judy, you do realize that Ann-Marie has a box on her head?"

"Yup," she replied.

"Are you going to let her do that?" he asked.

"Yup, she's not hurting anyone."

You see, my mom knew that I was different, and never once made me feel silly or weired for being so. On the contrary, my mother encouraged my behavior. I think she knew that if she did not allow me to explore my creative side in healthy ways, I would have rebelled in an unhealthy way. I was a kid, for example, who liked to play by herself. I would play in my closet - with the door closed - so no one would bother me or interrupt my imaginative play. Mom simply cleaned out my closet so that I could play in there. When I was a teenager, I liked to wear combat boots and dye my hair a different color every week. Mom allowed me to do this. Her reasoning? I made honor roll, had decent friends, did not do drugs and overall was a pretty good kid. What type of child would I have been if she repressed any of this?

I am a lot more controllive as an adult than my mother. I am type A and Mom is type...Z. Will I be able to recognize Mary Ellen for who she is, and more importantly, will I allow her to be her? Will I let go and go against the grain if I truly feel it is in the best interest of my child? I sure hope so. I hope that when it comes down to it, I will allow my daughter to sleep with a box on her head.

Maybe I'll even provide her with the flashlight.