PRINTRoom of dreams: A 3-year-old's bedroom
A child's imagination runs wild while playing
November 4, 2010 | 12:00 a.m. CST
It is miles high, vibrantly green and covered in beans — the magic kind, of course.
“It’s a beanstalk!” the boy says with a smile as bright as the sun. He grips the vines tightly and begins to climb. Is he Jack?
- A beautiful home: The room of an interior designer
- The cooking nook: The kitchen of three Chinese women
- The kids' corner: A second-grade classroom
- The safe space: The women's center
- Room for development: A photographer's darkroom
- The art of folding: An origami artist's studio
- Drag Duds: A drag queen's bedroom
- Man cave: An outdoorsman's underground lair
- Sewing sequins: A seamstress' workroom
- On the inside looking out: A pastor's office with a view
- Artist Hideaway: A painter's studio
- Memory cues: A room in a nursing home
- Clippers: One man's living room barber shop
- A room of their own
“No, shh,” he whispers just loud enough to hear. “I’m not Jack. We’re pretending.”
The climb is convincing, but there is no tall beanstalk or any clouds. Not a single sign of magic beans or a young Jack in sight. But there is Syler Braudis, 3, and a room full of imagination.
Standing in for the beanstalk is the white trim of a wall-sized chalkboard in Syler’s room. Flat, magnetic animals — a cat, panda, monkey, cow, frog and sheep — a few inches tall clutch the board. Syler knows such different animals could never actually live together in peace. And how does he know so much? Step inside his room, and you’d understand.
The poster above his bed reads, “World of Animals.” A tiger barely smaller than Syler sits in the corner and wears a substantial smear of red paint on his back from when Syler and a friend dipped into his dad’s art project. The tiger stares toward the chalkboard, where a hand-drawn and multicolored dragon bares his teeth.
Syler heads toward the dragon with a piece of pale blue chalk in each hand. He pauses for a moment to scratch his forehead with the back of his hand and brushes his straw-colored hair to the side. He is careful to keep the chalk away from his sleepy blue eyes — it’s just after 8 a.m. His hands meet the chalkboard wall. He starts at the top and presses down firmly.
“Woooooo,” he mumbles as he slowly draws both lines.
Snap.
“Oh no, it broked!” He watches the chalk slide down the wall, hit the white ledge and bounce onto a sea of green carpet. He doesn’t seem to mind.
He connects the two lines at the bottom. They resemble a heart, but he is sure this is not what he just drew. He steps back to look at his work. Dissatisfied, he makes one more line across the top, and finally it’s done. By now blue chalk dust has made its way to the sides of his hands and fingertips as it competes for space with the bit of dirt under his nails.
He draws some more and scribbles without conviction. He talks about giants, pumpkin books and the berry juice in his orange sippy cup.
There’s no talk of beanstalks or clouds not being real. You don’t need to see the magic to know it’s there.
