I’m fairly certain that my 3-month-old daughter can see ghosts. I’m not sure what I mean by “ghosts,” whether they’re anthropomorphic apparitions or wispy pockets of energy lingering like the odor of burnt toast, I don’t know, but she’s most certainly responding to something that I can’t see.
From what I’ve gathered, it’s fairly common. When I’ve mentioned it to other parents, the response has been surprisingly nonchalant. “Oh sure,” they say, “little Edgar would have actual conversations with people that weren’t there.” My cousin told me that both of his boys often referred to “the old man in their room.”
“But didn’t we all have imaginary friends?” I ask.
“Yeah,” they reply, “this is different.”
“How so?”
“It’s just…different.”
And I think I know what they mean. My daughter is not creating something imaginary; she’s reacting to something. It’s as if someone were making funny faces over my shoulder.
While the thought of it gives me goosebumps as I write this, she’s not frightened in the least. In fact, she seems to be quite entertained. And, whatever it is, she appears to be cataloging it the way a baby catalogs everything else: “There’s Mommy, there’s Daddy, and there’s the animal that they let sleep in their bed that also growls when she hears car doors. There’s my bottle, there’s my crib, and there’s…” What? What does she see?
Is it possible that babies can see things that their parents cannot? Is it possible that, as infants, we once had a vision that we no longer have and can no longer remember? Where did it go? When did it go?
Did it begin to fade the first time we heard: “Don’t be silly; there’s no such thing…?” Or did the ability, if it ever truly existed, just naturally fall away like a vestigial tail?
In the spirit (pun very much intended) of the season, if you’ve had a similar experience, I invite you to share it in the comment section. I’ll make S’mores.
