Miller.

Lately I have been receiving some compliments on my writing, which is both flattering and surprising, mostly because I never intended to actually entertain anyone, but rather use writing as an outlet for myself, with the added bonus of informing those close to my heart, yet far away on this planet (you know who you are) and possibly recording certain special moments for myself for all www-eternity.

Right now there is a lot going on in my life, my mind, my heart, that is in dire need of an outlet, but I have not yet found the right mind or the right words to share these actual goings on (rest assured, my Mom is still at home and as ok as possibly can be, which is actually not very ok, but more than we could ask for).

Anyway, in order to satisfy the urge of venting, (hopefully) provide entertainment and lastly keep up the good practice, I have decided to write about Miller.

Miller is the imaginary friend of my 4-year-old, Nicolas. He started off as a “real friend” in preschool two years ago, but Miller is older and graduated last summer. He lives in another town, so we have not been in touch since. Also, I was clueless about the impact, which The Real Miller had obviously left upon my son, until The Imaginary Miller confidently marched into our lives last fall.

Miller is NOT your ordinary imaginary friend. You know, the sort who needs a spare seat next to the actual kid “you can’t sit there, that’s my friend’s spot”, or his own cookie “one for me and one for my friend”, aka justification for general obnoxious behavior of kids that age.

Noooo, Nope, Nein, Niente — my son’s imaginary friend is nothing like this. He never asks for a seat or a cookie, in fact he never asks for anything. Quite the giver, Miller is different, taking the concept of Imaginary Friend to the next level. I like to think of him as the Chuck Norris of imaginary friends. He is absolutely f%$&ing amazing! Anything anyone ever does, Miller has already been there, done that — and excelled.

At first, we brushed Miller off, like a pesky fly, or rolled our eyes and laughed about the absurdness of what Miller gets up to in the mind of a 4-year-old boy, my son. But the more time we’ve spent with Miller and his stories, the more I have grown to marvel and also understand how valuable he is to my son and to us all.

It must be tough being the youngest of a family and having to process complicated matters that are completely normal for ones parents and the older sister, Mia (10). What a blessing Miller is: he is an interpreter, a psychologist and life-coach. Miller is a chameleon, usually a pre/school boy, but if needed can be anything from 5 to 100 years old (because when you’re one hundred, you die), he has multiple siblings (sometimes up to ten), sharks and dinosaurs as pets, a huge yard with only slides and a scooter-path, on which you can go rocket-speed. His Dad is an astronaut, but also a racecar driver, a rockstar, a chef and a builder of very cool houses. His Mom isn’t mentioned a lot, come to think of it, but that’s ok. I guess. ;-)

Miller helps my son deal with life’s most important questions:

Mia: So sad, one of my school-friends’ Grandmother died.

Me: Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie. I hope you can offer her some comfort.

Nic: Well, Miller’s Dad died, too, but he’s magic and he came back.

Miller builds Nic’s confidence:

Me: Nicolas, you’ll be starting swim lessons soon.

Nic: Oh, well, Miller did swim lessons, too and first he almost drownded (sic) but now he can go really fast and once he even swam with a real live shark!

Miller even works with Nic’s cognition and self-awareness at the same time:

Nic: Guess what! See that building over there?

Me: That’s a school.

Nic: I know. Guess who goes there?

Me: Hmmm, maybe Miller?

Nic: No. Miller’s brother.

Miller helps him keep up with his big sister:

Mia: Mom, guess what, we had a dance competition at school today and my group came in second place!

Me: Wow, that’s great, honey, congrats.

Nic: Well, Miller had a robot competition at his school — and he won.

And last but not least, Miller nurtures Nic’s bottomless, crazy, awesome childhood imagination, for which I have really and truly grown to love him.

As I said to begin with, this piece is meant primarily as a writing exercise and by now you are probably thinking very evil things about me, because you have spent the last 5 minutes or so actually reading about the imaginary friend of a 4-year-old-boy… For that I apologize.

Well, at least I saved a good one for last:

Mia (10) during dinner: Today in school, Michael* told me that if Donald Trump is elected president, he will destroy Germany. Is that true, Mom?

Me (collecting thoughts like “f&%$ this” or “how can I possibly explain Donald Trump to a ten year old, without swearing”), but before I could even open my mouth, Miller swooped in.

Nic, very matter-of –factly with his mouth half full of lentil stew: Well, Miller is way stronger than Donald Dump and he will punch him in the face.

Thanks, Miller. Really glad you have us covered, dude.

*This name is changed, cause I don’t want to call out the poor boy who seams to be terrified of the Trumpster.