365 Days (Part 1) | ✓

169. Treehouse

169. Treehouse: Write about your own secret treehouse hideaway.

The seniors sat in a wide, somewhat lumpy shape that most closely resembled a circle. Although some had already graduated, and all had endured twelve long years of school, they had not been able to arrange their chairs in an orderly fashion, and somehow this was a matter of hilarity to me. I did not mind so much the place where I ended up sitting. I would have preferred to sit next to a close friend, but on me left was a funny and calm boy named Sam and on the right, a boy named Jon I had used to know well but hadn't spoken to in some time.

Within our circle of mature and yet adolescent youths, a middle-aged man walked around; he was the speaker. Also encircled by our chairs were two more chairs, side by side, upon which a set of parents sat nervously. Surrounded by teenagers and the center of attention, I could see how they would be a little intimidated.

The purpose of it all was to gain a better understanding of parents. We, the speaker said, were going out into the world. We were leaving the nest. We would naturally butt heads with those who would always consider us as their babies: Mom and Dad.

It was a time of openness between the two age gaps. The parents in the circle were not the only ones in the room; more of them sat around us, allowed to participate but not the ones being primarily interviewed. We were to ask the parents questions -- we were to try to achieve an understanding of parental actions and thoughts, and also the best way of interaction with them during this period of transition. Respect was a key. Communication was another big factor in healthy and loving relationships.

One of the first questions the speaker, Curtis, asked was what our earliest memory was. He was trying to break the ice, I believe, and accustom us to participating.

One of Connor and Collin's best friends, Todd, said fishing with his dad when he was three or four. All of those boys hold fishing to be an almost sacred art. When we had been at camp, the speaker there had asked, "Who of you is has never been fishing?" I had nudged Collin and teased, "Oh, no, better raise your hand." He had grinned, but looked a little startled, like, "What sayeth you, woman?"

I raised my hand and shared the earliest memory I had -- or, I think it was the earliest. It's just an impression I had; a faint glimpse into a life so long ago I barely remember it.

I was standing on the ground, staring up the length of a massive tree. Perched among its gnarled branches was a small, simply constructed shelter -- four walls, a roof, and a floor. A simple rope ladder hung from the entrance -- which was a door shape cut into one side.

I remember standing there, at the base of that ladder, peering up into the room, where some of my brothers peeked out. I don't remember which ones -- I don't remember much else besides that it was a sunny day and that I wanted desperately to be up in that tree house.

I was too little, and the frustration of this gnawed at my baby heart. I knew it was my smallness that prevented me from joining my brothers. I knew it was not that they would not have had me; I simply could not get up there.

Staring at the rectangular hole leading into a room of utter mystery and fascination to me, I felt longing. I could not do something yet. I was too small. I wasn't yet capable.

Now I am. I am eighteen. I am legal. I can go do what I want, and the strange thing is... although it's exhilarating to be free, freedom comes with a price. It comes with fear and responsibility. It comes with having to make choices no one will see, and living according to your own rules. With freedom comes a much higher chance of making a mistake.

*

A/N: Wow, guys, y'all are breaking my heart. My inbox is exploding with people begging me to stay. I didn't realize people would be so much affected by me leaving... or miss my sassy comments and replies. I'm considering leaving this account up now. Maybe someday I'll come back to it, although I won't promise that.