The year I turned 5, my father spent the fall building me a treehouse. It had a working wood stove and windows that closed and opened and shingles on the roof. By November, it was time for my birthday party, and he was still nailing the last baluster on the porch railing as the families pulled up. I think a few of them decided right then and there that they wouldn’t let their kids play up in the sky like that.
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