An Undying Dream Of Being Sole Proprietor Of My Very Own Club House (Part I):
For as long as I can remember I have been completely fascinated with trees. When I was old enough and strong enough to climb them, it was about all I did. I remember seeing the Disney movie, The Jungle Book for the first time, feeling nothing but overpowering envy that Mowgli could conform his feet, back, and hands in such a way that enabled him to scurry up a tree with no branches. Even throughout the peak of my tree-climbing years, I could never master the physics of using my hands and feet as alternating propellers of force, while manipulating my back and butt into some sort of fulcrum. But then again, Mowgli's best friend was a talking bear. So the whole thing was most likely one giant paoti trip, and I really shouldn't beat myself up over such shortcomings.
When I was nine years old, I borrowed (without asking) a pile of varying loose lumber from my dad's stash in our garage. I then borrowed (without asking) a box of nails and a hammer. Finally, I kidnapped my baby brother to use as free labor: "You stand over there and I'm going to toss this hammer at your head when I'm finished using it. Don't forget to catch it." Together, my brother and I managed to build a tree fort. And I must say that for my first tree fort, it kicked some serious ass. I created a "first floor" from a couple of large sheets of ply wood. I masterfully crafted a "second floor" from random slats and two-by-fours, complete with a cubby hole which contained a bottle of mosquito repellent, tied to the cubby by a small piece of rope. Because, you know, some upper class suburbia hoodlums might come by and try to steal my (borrowed without asking) Off Lotion. Most kids would stash some scandalous contraband like an adult magazine or a dime bag of blow, or like, some stickers.... but no. Not me. That wouldn't make sense. What made sense, was not getting eaten alive by mosquitoes, and not having to climb out of my tree house to go all the way inside the main house to find bug repellent. We're talking about the same kid who left written contracts for the tooth fairy. It's a wonder I ever managed to get laid.
Upon completion of the main structure, I made a tire/rope swing that hung from the first level. If you were strong enough to drag the tire onto the first level, you could stand inside the tire and jump off of the platform, thus sending you on a full swing around the tree. Right now upon reading that last sentence, my mother is exhaling a quiet "thank you" to the baby Jesus for never knowing that her children were performing such feats behind her house. It's amazing my brother and I escaped any major injuries from the never ending list of stupid stunts we would pull. Not the least of which was using our Radio Flyer wagon as a bobsled, and taking turns pushing each other off the side of the levy behind our house. Lean too far to the left and you'd hit a large cement sewage drain. Lean too far to the right and you could put good money on either a head on collision with the infamous tree fort or landing softly in a patch of poison ivy. All of which were completely worth the four second adrenaline rush.
When I was nine years old, I borrowed (without asking) a pile of varying loose lumber from my dad's stash in our garage. I then borrowed (without asking) a box of nails and a hammer. Finally, I kidnapped my baby brother to use as free labor: "You stand over there and I'm going to toss this hammer at your head when I'm finished using it. Don't forget to catch it." Together, my brother and I managed to build a tree fort. And I must say that for my first tree fort, it kicked some serious ass. I created a "first floor" from a couple of large sheets of ply wood. I masterfully crafted a "second floor" from random slats and two-by-fours, complete with a cubby hole which contained a bottle of mosquito repellent, tied to the cubby by a small piece of rope. Because, you know, some upper class suburbia hoodlums might come by and try to steal my (borrowed without asking) Off Lotion. Most kids would stash some scandalous contraband like an adult magazine or a dime bag of blow, or like, some stickers.... but no. Not me. That wouldn't make sense. What made sense, was not getting eaten alive by mosquitoes, and not having to climb out of my tree house to go all the way inside the main house to find bug repellent. We're talking about the same kid who left written contracts for the tooth fairy. It's a wonder I ever managed to get laid.
Upon completion of the main structure, I made a tire/rope swing that hung from the first level. If you were strong enough to drag the tire onto the first level, you could stand inside the tire and jump off of the platform, thus sending you on a full swing around the tree. Right now upon reading that last sentence, my mother is exhaling a quiet "thank you" to the baby Jesus for never knowing that her children were performing such feats behind her house. It's amazing my brother and I escaped any major injuries from the never ending list of stupid stunts we would pull. Not the least of which was using our Radio Flyer wagon as a bobsled, and taking turns pushing each other off the side of the levy behind our house. Lean too far to the left and you'd hit a large cement sewage drain. Lean too far to the right and you could put good money on either a head on collision with the infamous tree fort or landing softly in a patch of poison ivy. All of which were completely worth the four second adrenaline rush.