When I showed up to pick Paris up from her grandma’s house the other day, she immediately took me outside to the backyard that overlooks a canyon. With an excitement that was hard for her to contain she escorted me down the steps and pointed to her proud creation of a fort. This fort was simply a few sticks propped up against each other. But in true Paris flair, she added the element of a flag and a seating area. I wish I could have been there to see her build it. To see the determination, the ingenuity, the pride and the satisfaction of completion. Her own special project. Paris likes to build. I love to see her do it. I love to watch the wheels turning in her head as she creates. And I love to see how passionate she is when she creates.
Not too long ago, I took her to one of my best friend’s house who I call Bob the builder. He has done incredible landscaping and re-building on his property. Paris took one look at his backyard, with all the sticks and rocks and whatever else she saw as usable and immediately went to work. His girlfriend and I sat in the living room overlooking the backyard and all I could see was Paris whipping back and forth each time with some new item in her hand. And there was Bob, his head quickly turning from side to side as he watched the whirlwind known as Paris. Within minutes, he gets us to see what Paris has done. And there she was sitting on a white bucket, playing the drums. The drums she had made of wood. I mean this thing went up in less than 10 minutes. Her creativity never ceases to amaze me.
And as has many times before, Paris play reminds me of my childhood. I loved and still love to create. My thing was entertaining. Always making up dances and performing for friends and family. I can also remember my friend and I making my sister and her sister sit down and play school where we made them do math assignments. Or how about the haunted house we made. You would sit in a rolling chair and as you passed under the stairway, a load of laundry would be dropped on your head. Frightening I know. Let’s not forget about people’s court. If there was a fight amongst us friends or siblings, it was mandatory People’s court time. But forts. Oh, how I loved to build forts. Inside and outside. One of my funniest fort memories is when my sister and I threatened to run away (a frequent occurrence). We must have been 7 and 8 maybe. So in our gymnastics leotards we quickly jetted out the door. I don’t think my mom was too worried because she knew we would be back and soon. And sure enough, within about 5 minutes I said, “We are still running away but we need some stuff.” So, I grabbed some sheets and a broom and set up camp right outside the front door. Even though we were only 10 ft away, we were still, in our minds, officially runaways. I must admit, that I have gypsy tendencies so I think part of the thrill was the freedom of not being confined and thumbing my nose to authority. And yes, I’m still this way.
Another fun fort story is when we used the bushes as our shelter. I think we probably brought some food and blankets and such to make it cozy. Of course, we had to create a club out of it and only certain people got in. But on this particular day, we found our neighbor’s teenage sister’s bong. OMG! How scandalous. I remember thinking that she was like the most hardcore person ever with her Ozzy Osbourne ripped t-shirts, acid jeans, blue eye shadow and dark eyeliner. And even though I barely wore black clothing until I reached about 19, there was a part of me that wanted to be that rebellious metal head.
So my love of forts gene has been transferred to my daughter. And she’s always asking me to build them. And I can build some pretty rad ones. I hope that part of her never dies. Cuz forts rule.
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