Lani, my five-year-old daughter, sashays through our bedroom door holding her Disney princess notebook in one hand. Peering through blue plastic John Lennon style glasses at us, she places her other hand on her hip in a grandiose motion.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls of all ages,” she announces like the ringmaster of a circus. “Dr. Lani is in the house!” Her attitude is way too sassy. I may need to rethink enrolling her in a jazz/hip hop class.

Glancing down at her notebook, she summons her first patient, “Mommy, I’m ready for you.” I’m a good sport, so I follow as she leads me into her bedroom. Lani has set up shop on her bed, so I take the patient’s usual spot on the examination table.

“So what is hurting you today?” she quizzes me.

I pause my response, trying to think quickly here and come up with something. “Somehow I sprained my ankle. I need your help,” I finally manage to say.

She looks down at her opened medical kit, a sprawling pile of pretend, plastic medical instruments. Lying on top of the faux pile is a legitimate medical instrument and a family heirloom, her great-grandfather’s stethoscope. Its shiny metal lays in stark contrast to the blue, yellow and red plastic of the toy instruments. She chooses it for her first medical tool.

“First I need to check you heart,” she states, placing the earpieces in her ears. 

“Okay, put this on your heart,” she instructs me as she hands me the chestpiece. It’s a good thing, I’m not in a real doctor’s office. If I were being asked to find my own heartbeat, I would be running out of their office, instead I just smile.

As if on cue, she transforms into a statue like figure, becoming quiet and still in order to focus on hearing the rhythmic sound of my heart. “It’s going thump, thump.” she informs me.

“I’m happy to hear my heart is still beating,” I laugh.

Lani turns back to her medical kit, rummaging through until she finds something that interests her. She selects a scalpel, studies it and drops it back in the pile. Choosing the ear scope, she holds it up in the air to take a peek through the opening. Quickly disappointed by the limited view, she tosses it back in the pile. Lani finds the electronic pager, begins pushing the buttons. The weakened battery is making the pager produce prolonged exaggerated beeps. She gets momentarily lost in her role-playing, listening to its funky sounds.

Her hypnotic state is broken after the sounds begin to fade. She abruptly jumps off the bed, and she instantly exclaims “about your ankle, I will be right back,” and walks out of her room.

Moments later, Lani waltzes back in her room with a long fuzzy scarf trailing her. She begins layering my ankle in its pink and purple stripes. I like her sense of style, it’s the most chic bandage I have ever seen. She methodically wraps my ankle like a pro, carefully overlapping the scarf like she’s done it a million times. Tucking the end of the scarf deep within the folds with care, she gives my ankle a comforting hug. “You will be all better now,” she says in a loving tone. 

I had been thinking she had forgotten about my injury. There was no bandage in her medical kit. Was she buying some time playing with all her medical instruments to come up with an alternative? Is she an innovative thinker or a budding fashionista? 

Or was the magic of role-playing at work?

Role-playing encourages the use of critical thinking, analyzing a problem and solving it. I believe it worked. Lani’s strong desire to mend her mommy’s pretend boo-boo led her to overcome obstacles while incorporating her very fashionable style.