From The Storyteller
Oct. 1, 2018, Password
There are six of us jammed into the refrigerator box sitting behind the garage. The neighbors got a new refrigerator, and we got the box. Our fort is known only to us, and to get in you had to know the password. The fact all six of the neighborhood kids were there didn’t change the importance of the knowing that password. Annoying little sisters were not allowed in the fort because, “You can’t come in without the password.”
Crafting our plans to stay overnight in the fort included important things like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, KoolAid, cookies, and a flashlight. I’m six and just assumed parental approval for this grand adventure. I am pleased to say four of us got permission. The provisions were gone by 9:00, the flashlight was dead by 10:15 and by 10:30 we were all home. The fort lasted until it rained, and then the six of us were required to haul the soggy cardboard to the trash can.
Backyard forts, tree climbing, riding our bikes, and anything else we could come up with pretty much marked our day. This was not “play” to us. This was serious stuff, and almost every day, just when we were really starting to have fun, we had to go in to get ready for bed.
At six life seemed like an endless stream of summer days spent outside running, or cooling off on somebody’s front porch reading comics. I don’t remember the summer coming to an end, but I do know school did start on the Tuesday following Labor Day, because I had made it to second grade.
These are fond memories of a summer well spent. Sometime I wish I could remember that password, because without it, you can’t enter the fort.
Moral: Six year olds do important things too.