My Father was A Legendary High School Football & Basketball Coach & Teacher in North Florida. But, one Memory out of many that stand out in my Mind is this:
When I was about 9 years old, He built me a Treehouse in the Front Side Yard by the Main Street.
The Treehouse didn’t have sides or Top. It was Just A Floor. But, that was Great by Me. He put a ladder to the Treehouse on one of the Trees holding up the Treehouse.
As he built me the treehouse, he let me help him build it & we had good conversation as always.
My father never talked baby talk to me, even when I was a very small boy. He talked to me about real things. Shared his mind with me. Shared things with me, way ahead of my years.
After school, I would go up in the Treehouse & do my homework. Even took my German Shepard puppy named “Champ” up there with me. I always had my portable Radio with Me, listening to Soul Music. I took books up there, toys, all kind of stuff. I loved that Treehouse.
I was able to think up in that Treehouse. Think All kind of Thoughts. I loved stories then. I love stories now. My father was a great storyteller & he told me many stories. Stories of his childhood. Stories of his time as A Buffalo Soldier, fighting against the Germans in Italy & North Africa & The Japanese in the Philipines. He told me of his College Days at Bethune Cookman & stories about his many Championship teams over the years.
While in the Treehouse, I often dreamed of the things I would do when I got older. Instead of looking at it as a Treehouse, I looked at it as “My Dream House.”
It takes discipline as a writer to write for long hours without anyone around. If you can’t get off to yourself & concentrate & think & write as a writer, you won’t make it as a writer. I was able to get a good start with a writer’s mindset with my Treehouse way back then.
When friends came over, if I laid flat, they could not even see me. Sometimes, I would scare the mess out them jokers. Especially at night.
That Treehouse was a Chill Spot for Me.