"I
learned this, at least, by my experiment: that if one advances confidently in
the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has
imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.”
Do any of you remember what it was like as a kid to pile up
couch cushions, drape some blankets on top of it and crawl inside with your friends
and tell scary stories? Well, I do. And it brings back such vivid and powerful
memories. So about 4 years ago when my
oldest said, “dad, will you help me build a fort?” I couldn’t have been happier
to oblige. This innocent question awoke a primal urge that has been part of man
since our Australopithecus (yes, I just name-dropped an obscure anthropology
reference) ancestors started looking for caves to adorn with pictures of
mammoths.
So not too long ago my family and I were staying at a good
friend’s cabin and it just so happened that, due to a pine beetle infestation,
there was a significant amount of cleared and cut wood lying like manna from
heaven for the taking. Our first attempt at construction was feeble but valiant
none the less. Falling short of the mark (and both of us knowing it), my
daughter and I spent the next 6 months discussing plans for re-designing our
fort in a fashion that would gain the acceptance of
the famous fictional architect Howard Roark.
With a healthy amount of anticipation built up during the
drive to the cabin, and a general idea of how we were going to make this thing legit,
we went to work. For the next three days we were in the zone. At the Brown
construction site, my daughters made sure I understood that rest was for the
weak. Being equipped with only the essentials…twine, a shovel, and a knife, we
let our imaginations drive our creativity. As our veritable “edifice of
frontier functionalism” began to take shape, an interesting thing occurred. For
the first time as a father, I found myself and my kiddos on the exact same level
of intellectual involvement. I was not pulling them to do something, neither were
they pulling me. In that moment we were one in purpose. And dammit, we were building the greatest
log fort that Duck Creek Village has ever seen.
I don’t think I’m alone.
I mean...honestly…who doesn’t like building a fort? At home, couch
cushions and blankets become sibling’s tools of the metaphorical communal Amish
barn raising. In the woods, sticks and
logs do the trick. I can only assume
that thousands of years ago the ancient Druids were goofing around with their
kids in a field full of rocks and someone said, “Son, have you heard of post
and lintel architecture? It’s all the rage.” Fort-building is in our DNA.
Part of it is because let’s face it, when you finish the job,
the pure awesomeness of crawling inside with a flashlight can be rivaled only by
Ed McMahon’s surprise visit with a giant check in hand. And do you want to know what the most
satisfying and pleasantly surprising outcome was for me through the building process
(I use the word process because although the fort is technically done…we plan
on working on it every time we go back)?
I’ll tell you. The most wonderful
part of this was that the emotions I felt in those moments were the exact same for
me now as an F-er as they were for me as a 7-year-old boy. As the Brown family stacked logs, I was able
to catch a perfect glimpse into the creative souls of my girls. And at the same time, my girls were able to
see a side of their dad that had long since been boxed up and locked away.
So now whenever we go back to our friend’s cabin, we park, we
unload our luggage, and we immediately go to work on the Brown family fort. I get to feel like a kid again, and my girls
get to travel back in time to see what their dad was like at their age. And if you allow me to wax a little poetic
for a second, this humble frontier dwelling is a terrific symbolic expression
of my relationship with my kiddos. From the outside it may seem imperfect and
haphazard, but step inside and it’s a stable refuge offering shelter and
security. And no matter where we seem to be in the process there is always
something to improve. See… I told you it
was poetic.
But seriously, all metaphors aside, this experience has been
a priceless bonding experience for me and my kids. So fellow F’ers, your assignment this week is
to get out and build a fort. Grab some blankets and pillows, and get to
work. Pretty soon, you’ll find yourself
driving the DeLorean at 88 miles per hour into the deep recesses of your childhood.
And when you’re done bonding with your kids, send them to bed, grab some
popcorn, and watch a scary movie in the palace you just created. I promise you
it will open dusty old memories that you will be glad to re-live alone or with
your family. Happy Building!!
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