The Tree House
April 9, 2019
I was looking for a book on my parent’s bookshelf when I saw our photo albums. I pulled one down and started flipping through it. I was looking at pictures of my third-grade birthday party when I saw pictures of my old treehouse, and all the memories came flooding back.
When I was younger, my family had a play set in our backyard. It was a simple wooden set, with monkey bars, yellow swings, and a tree house with a colorful tarp as a roof. My brother and I played on it endlessly. One day it was a pirate ship, the next a rocket, and with imagination, anything was possible.
I remember this one day: My brother and I had just gotten home from elementary school, and our neighbor, Derek, came over to play. We had an epic battle with the theme Sharkboy and Lavagirl, a classic movie of our time. I was Lavagirl and I spewed imaginary lava at them every chance I got. They speedily extinguished my fire with their water powers. Finally, I got them with a lava wave, and they retreated into their fort, our tree house. In this epic battle, I was the victor and at that moment, anything was possible.
Aside from our intense battles, we also had picnics in the treehouse. This one Saturday in summer, my dad and mom made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and brought them up into the tree house. We chatted and ate and overall had a lovely time. My dad told me tales about his childhood, and how he and his friends always used to play in his treehouse, many years ago. We bonded over that story. That day, it seemed that anything was possible.
As time passed, the magic faded. We soon became “too old” to swing anymore, and our interests changed. We became busy with reading or watching TV. Soon those picnics and battles seemed childish, and we outgrew it.
I will never forget the day the treehouse got torn down. It was a cool spring day, and my parents had bribed Matt and me with $20 to take it down. We had not used it in years, and my mom got the idea that our backyard would look better without it.
“We can give it to the Smiths,” she offered.
“Okay, I guess,” I said half-heartedly.
I watched from my window as my dad tore the treehouse apart, and simultaneously my childhood. I had grown up in that wooden creation. It had been a castle, a fortress, a cave, and so many other places to my brother and I. We played together there, made memories and just had fun in that treehouse. I was sad to see it go. As I watched him pull the wooden pieces apart, it seemed that not everything was possible.
Still, in my heart, I will always think fondly of that treehouse. My brother and I made a million memories there. In that treehouse, we could be anything we wanted to be- we were pirates, knights, Power Rangers, and superheroes. It was a place of imagination and adventure, and I will always be grateful that it was a part of my life.
