Wisdom with my Little Sister

“Imagination is more important than knowledge,” she says through gritted teeth, rolling her eyes in annoyance. “It just is!”

She pouts some, looking vexed and adorable. But I am not looking for adorable right now, I want an answer. I press further, “But why?”

Her red hair is curled around her pointer and swearfinger and she chews a bit on the ends absentmindedly. “Imagination is more hopeful, I guess. Like, even when things are at their worst, you can imagine a better alternative.”

“Fair enough. But speaking of alternatives, let’s try one. What about that game you like to play, Red Dead Redemption?”

“What about it? It rocks ass.”

“Shhh. Well, what about the character Seth?”

“Sorry.” She paused. “You mean the creepy old necrophiliac?”

“…”

“What?”

“Jeez. Where do you get this stuff?”

“That’s what he does! Gosh!” She pouted again and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Psssh. Fine. The creepy necrophiliac-“

“Yayy!”

“Seth goes through the game constantly searching for some dead guy’s treasure, right?”

“Right.” An emphatic, singular head nod.

“But he doesn’t know what it is, does he? No one does, it’s a hidden, secret treasure. He just imagines it be a fortune beyond his wildest dreams-“

“Silk sheets and Parisian whores!” she cheered in correction.

“Sigh. That’s not the point.”

“Well, what is!” she demanded, growing more impatient.

“My point IS once Seth finally finds the treasure, it turns out it’s just some guy’s glass eye, which he treasured greatly, but which is also quite worthless to anyone else. Why anyone would be so dumb to make a map to their own eye, I don’t know.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Well, if Seth had the knowledge of what the treasure was, instead of the crazed imaginings of alcoholics, maybe he wouldn’t have wasted his life searching for it; maybe he could have been happy.”

My eight year old sister narrowed her little eyes at me, furrowed her little brow and crossed her arms over her chest again. She continued to glare at me for about twenty seconds or so, little cogs turning beneath her hazel eyes; adorable and bent on my destruction.

“It seems to me that it is better for Seth to have run with his imagination. I learned in history class that people didn’t live to be very old because of icky things like pus and evil things like shotgun murder. Maybe imagining that treasure gave him motivation to better his life. At least he has a purpose. A lot of people don’t seem to. And Seth was too happy! He was always dancing in graves and giggling as he rubbed all those dead people! Do you know how much I love marshmallow fluff, big brother?”

“…no.”

“Lots and lots. Bunches. And it’s nowhere close to how much Seth loves rubbing dead bodies. Sounds to me like Seth had a purpose and was happy. I mean, he was really dirty and gross and crazy and probably smelled like dumpster shoes, but hey! it worked for him. The knowledge at the end ruined his life. So I guess it just matters on who you are. I am happy and awesome and so I think imagination is more important than knowledge. You are sad and only kind of great and so you think knowledge is more important than the imagination. But you only focus on what you know you can’t do while I think of everything I could.”

“…”

“And awesome beats kind of great! Booyah!” She stuck her tongue out of me and danced in a circle around my chair. As per our arrangement, I now owed her a butterscotch sundae at Dairy Queen.