Our Tree House

We weren't a bedtime story type of family. Not really. It's not that my grandparents didn't encourage me to believe in the magic of story telling. It's just that I had a younger sister and we shared a room, so we went to bed early. Well, she did. Me, on the other hand, well...

My favorite books to read when I started reading on my own were the Magic Tree House series. I loved fairy tales, of course. I was a Disneyland girl. Movies and stories were my bread and butter. Princesses and princes and talking animals gave my life meaning when I was anxious or sad over something I couldn't control. But fairy tales weren't something I liked to read.

I loved adventure. I just didn't love to go outside to find the adventure. My grandpa knew this, of course, and so he bought me this little battery powered light that attached to the cover of my books; secretly, because he knew that my adventure was always after bedtime and he didn't want to dull my taste for it. So, I'd sneak under my covers, flip the little switch, and I'd be gone. This was long before iPhones and iPhone flashlights. I couldn't just plug my Kindle in. I don't like those much, anyways. The smell of books, the feel of the thin pages, the thrill of squinting my little eyes to read in the dark with my dull little book light. That was exactly what I longed for each night.

I'm sure there were more books than the Magic Tree House that gave me something to look forward to each night, but these are the ones I remember the most. I wanted to build a tree house in my small apple tree in the backyard of my condo specifically to adventure like Jack and Annie. I longed to meet Morgan Le Fay so much that my grandpa bought me a porcelain doll we found at a doll shop so I could keep my dream nearby. He was always an encouraging man in his own way, though his words were seldom long. He'd be thoughtful in small ways, like the doll or the book light. And, you know, something about my grandparents encouraging me to break the rules and read after bedtime was special to me. They'd never say it, they'd tell me to go to bed, but they'd just know that I wasn't sleeping up there with the door closed. They may not have been reading with me at the time, but their support in my world of reading somehow meant more. I carried it through adulthood, but now I'm unable to sleep while creating the story instead of reading somebody else's. I know my grandpa would be proud. I am grateful every day for those memories of the nights I'd get to spend with my book and my little gift of light from him.

Each night, I'd place my little light on the nightstand with my book and I would fall asleep planning my next tree house adventure from the comfort of my own bed. There, in whatever world Morgan would choose for us, I would stay comfortable and anxiety free. Jack and Annie would introduce me to Merlin and Morgan, and I'd bring my grandparents if I could because I know they'd love to meet them too. We would get to see the world with a simple jump into our tree house. I just knew it would be magical.

I never did build the tree house in my little apple tree. It took me years to be able to venture out on my own; even into adulthood I stayed the anxious girl that wanted to stay home with her book instead of following Morgan Le Fay into the abyss. Still, if I stumbled across a tree house that would whilst me away to meet Morgan, I'd never say no. I might see my grandpa there.