All the World's a Stage

By Suzan L. Jackson
Issue 106, May-June 2001

"Queen Falee! The bad guys are approaching! Don't worry--we'll protect you!" my six-year-old son, Jamie, yells to me as he runs through the kitchen wearing rain boots, a blanket tied as a cape, and a hat from an old Oktoberfest.

"Queen Falee! Bad guys! We protect you!" Two-year-old Craig is right behind him, dressed in his own cape along with a bandanna tied around his waist, a firefighter's hat, and his brother's old shin guards.

This is a typical scene in our house, as our two boys dress up in assorted items and act out all kinds of imaginative scenes. One minute they're pirates, the next they're knights. A quick costume change and they're space captains. They spend most of their playtime together pretending, which is just fine with my husband and me as we watch them continuously expanding their imaginations and vocabularies. The source of all this creative play is the costume box, a fixture in our home for the last four years. Since its inception, it has taken on a life of its own.

By the time Jamie was two, our home was already filled with more toys than the average preschool. There had not been a child in our extended family since my sister and I were young, and my well-meaning but overindulgent family had crammed our house with colorful plastic. I worried that our son would be jaded by all this material excess; he already had the full Brio train set, a motorized two-seater Jeep, and boxes filled with little cars, toy animals, blocks, and other toys.

As Christmas rolled around that year, my husband and I tried to think of gift ideas for the child who had everything. We knew that the holiday would bring another avalanche of new toys from family and Santa. What could Mommy and Daddy possibly give their adored son without further overwhelming his young senses? The costume box was born.

We had noticed that, like all two- and three year olds, our son was beginning to enjoy dressing up and playing pretend. He loved to shuffle around in Mommy's shoes or wear Daddy's hat. So instead of buying yet another expensive toy, we purchased a plastic storage box and foraged through closets and the basement for dress-up supplies.

We found plenty of fodder for our son's imagination. I contributed some scarves, a pair of worn-out oxford shoes, and an old vest. My husband found a gaudy tie he'd never worn, several old hats, and some bandannas. We looked through bags of old Halloween costumes and found animal noses, silly hats, and other potential dress-up accoutrements. To top it off, we bought an inexpensive set of five pretend hats, including such essentials as a firefighter hat and a hard hat.

Our son was thrilled on Christmas morning, but that gift was only the beginning. The costume box has lived on--and grown--over the past four years to become the most revered plaything in our home. Both boys typically run to the costume box as soon as they jump out of bed each morning. When their friends come to visit, they are drawn to the box and its contents almost immediately.

The other day, Jamie's friend Danny came over to play after school. After the requisite Pokémon card trading session, I suggested the boys find something to play that would include Jamie's sibling, Craig. Instead of the typical groans you might expect from an older brother, Jamie's face lit up as he exclaimed, "Hey, let's get stuff from the costume box!"

For the next hour, the three boys ran through the house, teaming up to fend off the bad guys, overcoming imaginary obstacles, and having a blast. Craig wore a firefighter’s jacket and baseball cap, Jamie donned a homemade tunic and headband, and normally reserved Danny wore a cowboy vest and a wide red ribbon tied around his waist. “Cool!” Jamie exclaimed to his friend. “You look like a karate guy!”

I completely understand their enthusiasm. Dressing up was, hands down, the favorite activity for my best friend, Michelle, and me when we were children. My mother let us play with her old prom dresses, and my grandmother donated a closetful of outdated garments that lived a new life in our playroom. Michelle and I would carefully select our outfits and play pretend and even parade around the neighborhood in our garb, much to the amusement of our neighbors. To this day, both of us vividly remember every dress and accessory. The most coveted item was a fake leopard-print hat, the orange shift and matching kerchief a close second. That discarded clothing gave us hours of pleasure and wonderful memories. It is gratifying to see my boys creating the same kinds of memories now.