Last night at the hockey game a little boy about four or five was sitting behind me with his older brother. During the intermission, this conversation between them took place.

LK: Hey! I just saw my frwend over there.
OB: Really? Where?
LK: Over there. His name is Noah.
OB: Yeah, that’s cool. Noah’s cool.
LK: Ummmm. But Noah is….uhhhhh. Noah’s imaginary. He’s an imaginary friend.
OB: Oh, that’s cool. Imaginary friends are cool.
LK: Yeah.

I instantly cracked a smile and chuckled to myself. Then I started thinking about the absolute lack of imaginary friends in my life. I never really even had them as a kid. At least not that I can remember (they couldn’t have been that close if I had them and don’t remember them). My brother had an imaginary friend. He was a skeleton that lived in his closet. They got along like gangbusters. So I think I’ll go out and try and find an imaginary friend over the next couple of weeks. We could hang out, play frisbee, grab beers, or wash my car. He’d only show up when I wanted him to. He’d never outstay his welcome, talk behind my back, or try to steal kisses from my date. I’m sure he’d only have good things to say about me. And I don’t see why he wouldn’t be happy too, I have plenty of closet space.