Affection for our Fictional Characters is Not Weird
What’s the weirdest belief you held as a child?
I believed the voice on the radio came from a little man inside the cabinet.
If we were able to watch the Danny Williams family on The Danny Thomas Show, it seemed to me that his TV family must be able to watch us.
And when I discovered The Dick Van Dyke Show, I got to see so much more of Rob than my father that I wished Rob was my Dad.
Those were “weirdly wonderful” beliefs to have at that age.
Even the Christmas when I realized that Santa didn’t bring our presents was an oddly happy moment. I had been obsessing about getting a “Baby Pattaburp" doll.
“I want this so much,” I told my mom, “that I don’t believe Santa will bring it to me.” And she kept reassuring me, “He will.”
So when I opened it, I knew at that moment that my mother had made sure of it. “You got this for me, didn’t you?” I said.
She nodded and I felt such relief — actually proud that at the age of 7, I had figured out. Knowing that didn’t spoil my Christmas or its magic. I thought of my mom as magical.
The belief I suspect I shared with most other kids was that my stuffed animals and dolls would feel hurt if any of them took second or third place to another toy. Having to choose which of my gifts I would take with me to Grandma’s house on Christmas Day, I was consumed by guilt over leaving the others behind.
Whose heart sank, as mine did, for Woody when Andy reached for his Buzz Lightyear to take to Pizza Planet? “Toy Story” reunited us with our Slinky Dog, our Fisher Price phone, our Etch A Sketch and Mr. Potato Head, but more than that, it had us feeling sorry for those neglected toys from our childhood.
Who else cried, as I did, with Tom Hanks’ character Chuck when “Wilson” the volleyball, his only companion for four years, dropped into the ocean and drifted out of reach? It wasn’t the first time he had lost Wilson; remorseful after throwing him during an “argument,” he promised “never again!” when he found him.
There’s a word for the emotional loyalty we attach to non-humans as well as inanimate objects — anthropomorphism — credited to an ancient Greek philosopher, Xenophanes.
An article in Psychology Today UK magazine calls it “attributing human characteristics to a non-human entity.”
“Some people are more inclined to anthropomorphize than others,” the editors write, “but it is a common way of interacting with the world.”
I don’t remember having conversations with my toys, but well into my 20s, I play-acted with fictional characters and actors I would never meet. On my long bus rides to work, I carried on fantasy conversations in my head (never audibly) with actors I was crushing on and wrote scenes for us. Not only to pass the time during my commute, but also to create an alternative world for myself.
The affection we feel for dolls and plush animals, for TV families and other fictional characters is because we need them as an extension of the people we rely on. No one human being, no matter how loving, can possibly love us as much as we want or need them to.
By relating to our toys and to fictional characters we feel like we know, we become imaginative and empathetic human beings — more so than we’d be without them.
There will be times when toys and beloved characters come to our rescue like a warm blanket, making us feel less alone. No wonder we bond with them.
It still comforts me to join Rob and Laura in the “Petrie living room” that I know by heart.
