Treehouse
2004-01-29 - 7:00 p.m.

Jon walked around the outside of the tree fort, admiring it from every angle. He believed that this was probably the best tree fort he had ever built, and he had built quite a number of them. At the ripe old ago of eleven, he was already a hardened vet of treehousing.

He began to climb the wooden planks that would serve as his staircase. They weren’t much, just old chunks of wood pounded full of bent nails, but to Jon, they represented the height of home engineering.

When he reached the top, he turned and looked out. He couldn’t believe everything he could see! Why, there was Billy’s house, to the west, and, if he squinted, he could almost see the creek where he caught his first bullfrog, and where he’d been forced by his frog-hating mother to return it only hours later. He could see the spot where he’d kissed Susie (He’d never tell), and he could see the remains of a former treehouse (“Not much compared to this one.” he thought smugly.).

Time passed, and Jon grew out of his treehouse. Eventually he grew out of his parent’s house too. He went to college, graduated, married, and had children. The child had grown into a man.

Looking out the window of his home, Jon can barely see into the woods, but, if he squints, he can pick out a small figure moving through the woods, and, while Jon watched, his son shimmied up a makeshift staircase, and, for a moment, stood on top of the world.