And so there we were…buried in blankets, surrounded by wooden chairs…alone but together, hidden from the outside world and it’s “rules” and “expectations”. We were rebels, my son and I; removed from the clutches of society’s relentless demands and free to live life as WE wanted. It was a grande time, for the boy and I…..and it was destined to continue to be so until the Boy decided he’d try that full-on sprint he’d been workin’ on…directly toward the masterpiece I’d spent the afternoon erecting.
I mean, come on….I’d poured sweat and love and, though no blood….at least a few random unexplained, deep-seeded-who-the-hell-knows-where-they-came-from tears, into this thing…and here Oliver was…thinkin’ he could just be all random and what-not, and feel FREE enough and careless with the thing to take down whole ceilings with his forehead.
Seriously. This fort was ART. It involved like….SIX blankets. FIVE chairs…and one was a ROCKING chair, even. There were two entrances/exits…(fire code being what it is)…and a brilliant lounge peppered with pillows and ambiance. See, kids never get that. Their world is so impermanent that some brief and casual joy is as valuable as a fricken everlasting gobstopper. Adults, we know better. Time equals value in our world, and consideration only sweetens the deal.
Suppose, though…if only briefly, that it’s the KIDS that have it right. Perhaps we should just take a whiff and then move on? Maybe it’s our way of trying so mightily to hold on to these things that eventually spoils the time spent with them?
Perhaps I should have just taken a note from my son. It wasn’t the beauty of the fort I should have been trying to maintain, but the everlasting joy we both felt while spending that awesome afternoon together, building and laughing and, ultimately, destroying? I don’t know…
After all, before each of us knows it…everything that surrounds us is sure to fall and everything else is but some shallow blanketed corner of the room. How amazing can such a place be, really…when one shift of a chair can destroy the roof; when one errant toss of a cat (read: purely as example), can bring down the whole building?
I guess I’ll just play the Doozer and try to enjoy the art of creation as much as the Boy enjoys the art of destruction. In the meantime, though, we’ll both simply enjoy every single freakin’ moment we spend together.