Remember how awesome we were inside of the blankets we strung over the coffee table and stretched out to make a ramshackle by tucking the frayed corners into the cushions of the couch? (Look I found a quarter! And some potato chips!)
Back when we were fort builders, remember how we would race around the house collecting every single pillow or pillow-ish thing we could get our grubby mitts on so we could drag them back into our fort?
Bed pillows, throw pillows, towels, empty pillowcases, we took them off of our bed and off of mom and dad’s bed, off of the towel rack in the bathroom with reckless abandon.
We commandeered snacks from the kitchen, too: bananas, cans of tuna, Pop-Tarts…a jar of mayo. As fort builders, we weren’t all that fussy really, we mostly just took whatever we could reach.
Finally, we rounded up the “supplies,” snagging rolls of toilet paper, flashlights, maps, old copies of Woman’s Day or Reader’s Digest. Randomness was the order of the day. And no, we didn’t ask permission to stock the fort: this was the real deal … dining room wilderness survival.
Fort builders don’t need permission.
In considering the fine art of fort life, perhaps the coolest thing of all though is the fact that kids are still doing it today. They’re still out there, lightbulbs going off above their bored winter heads, still building forts despite all of the cyber games and computer crap vying for their souls.
See, putting up forts is a timeless tradition. Your parents made forts, I can guarantee it. And so did their parents, too, I’ll bet.
Hell, I wouldn’t be the least surprised to peer into some blanket fort some afternoon and spot you down there in the hidden pillows, snarfing away on a fruit roll-up in the flashlight’s glow.
And that’s a good thing, if you ask me.
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