When I was a kid, I was manically, passionately, religiously obsessed with pretending. The imaginary games that filled my life from around age seven to around age 13 were the center of my existence: starting with a brotherhood of secret siblings, three classmates in third grade (we identified ourselves using copper tape talismans that my friend’s electrician father provided for us) and ending with a novelistic exchange of character-driven letters planning a rebellion (my correspondent was in my wedding fifteen years later).
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