My eldest son was about 2 had an imaginary friend. BB was orange, the size of a large apple and covered in The alan parsons project the turn of a friendly card shirt. BB was cool. Occasionally my son would yell at him to be nice but overall he was good. One day in the car my son yelled “THAT’S IT!” and put his window down, threw something out and calmly put his window back up. When we asked what happened he says very bluntly that he threw BB out the window and was now dead. We asked about BB in the weeks after and he always said BB was dead. Son is now 10 and still remembers BB. He says BB was a dick and deserved it but can’t remember why.
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Not an Imaginary Friend per se, but my niece as a toddler made a pretty convincing case that she was The alan parsons project the turn of a friendly card shirt. From the time she could lisp her first words, she carried on about someone called “Tertha” or “Trutha” or something odd like that. Sometimes she called herself “Tertha” and a fair number of her dolls had those or similar names. By the time she was 2 or three, she talked non-stop about “Her other Mommy” and “Her sister” and how she (Tertha) and her “Other Mommy and sister were in a car accident and then were in the hospital and her other Mommy died”. I mean, she wouldn’t quit about it. My sister neither discouraged her from telling the stories nor encouraged her. She would always finish up with the punchline “Then after my other Mommy died, then I was in your stomach!” Imagine a little child, big eyes looking up at you, rattling on about this.