Daddy Dreams of a Treehouse

I always wanted a treehouse. A place out in the woods that we could hang out in and escape to and just be kids in.

The closest we ever had was in this old tree on the other side of the fence at my mom’s house. It had a giant limb broken bent down to the ground like a ramp that made it easy to climb, and even the dog could get up with us. We nailed down some seats, I think six or seven, and we could get up there and sit and be kids.

At one point we thought about building a little clubhouse too. We had a bare spot of land hidden in the trees behind the pond and even dragged some old tin siding/roof out to the spot. But we weren’t architects and didn’t really have a plan and it never got built.

But we never had a treehouse, perched up high with walls and a roof and a door and a ladder or stairs.

I think part of wanting one was always based in childhood fantasy. Seeing great forts in TV and movies and in books. In backyards and hidden away and always awesome no matter how big or small or fancy or rustic.

And guess what, now that I’m a grown man and a dad, I still want one.

I don’t need fancy or elaborate or tons of lights or TV or anything like that. Don’t get me wrong, those kinds of treehouses are really, really, really cool. But they are more than I need. Take a look at the photos below. That treehouse has spiral stairs and a chimney and lights all over and two levels. It’s amazing. It’s more than I need.

What I’d love is a little joint with some windows and access to sunlight. Four walls. A roof. Comfortable seating and maybe a little cot or something, and a vibe that makes you feel like you’re hidden away from the rest of the world, even if you can hear someone yell “dinner time” from the back door of the house.

Would it be cool if we had a little tiny fridge in there somewhere? You know, with little pre-wrapped sausages and things? Yes, it would be very cool (thanks Barenaked Ladies for putting that thought in my mind forever), but it’s not what I dream of or need.

I’d be fine with battery-powered camping lights for after the sun goes down. I’d be fine with old comic books and a couple of scratchy wool blankets to keep away a chill. I’d be fine with 100 square feet, 10 feet off the ground that wouldn’t make a good magazine photo or time-lapse video.

I hope someday that I have the space to make that happen for me and Ollie. And I hope that he likes the idea so I’m not just an old man with a treehouse that his kid avoids because he thinks it’s lame.

I hope that he wants to go hang out in a treehouse with a book or toys instead of sitting in front of the TV. I hope he wants to carry a bag full of snacks and secrets and has a locker that he can keep his things in and they can be just his. I hope he invites his friends and they have passwords and talk about school and sports and life and their own dreams.

Maybe it’ll happen. Maybe it never will.

But the cool thing about a dream like this is that it never has to fade, it never has to go away, it never has to end. And maybe I can pass it down to Ollie too.