I think that the tree house was built before I was even born. I discovered it one day while just strolling through the woods on a brisk fall day. It was just a box with some windows, but it was my box. I used it for a storage box at first, filling it with water guns and provisions that I could use should the bad people invade my piece of paradise. I would imagine that they ran over the hills, screaming and waving weapons from the dark ages, and that I was there to fend off the hoard with nerf guns and baseball sized rocks. There I would be, a hero among men, standing over the

The box was my sanctuary, my place to just sit and think. I used to sit there and think deep philosophical thoughts. Problem was, to a young kid, deep philosophical thoughts consist of which ninja turtle was the toughest, who could hit more home runs, Babe Ruth or dad, and why I was the only guy in my class who only had four girlfriends. These thoughts ultimately led to questions for my parents, deep philosophical questions that they always had trouble answering. I never could understand why they couldn’t tell me why I couldn’t play major league baseball at age seven, why the grass couldn’t talk, or where baseballs go when I lose them. So I sought the answers to these and many other adult stumping answers in the solitude of the tree house. Eventually, I came to the sad realization that for all my pre-teen pondering, I was no smarter than my parents or the adults around me, and for some reason that really got me down for a long time. The simple fact that I didn’t know everything and probably never would was a real bummer. The tree house became a place not of quiet thought, but of mediocrity where I was no better than anyone else. My deep philosophical thoughts began to give me a more earthly point of view to the world around me, where I was one of many who wanted to know the answers to the questions of the world. All I had to do was find the people like me to help me understand the answers to all my questions.

As time passed, the invading armies gave way to another love, the forest itself and the animals in it. On my twelfth birthday my father finally let me go hunting by myself. It was the first day of deer season, and armed with only a bow, arrows, and a knife the size of my arm, I set out to bag the bi

Some topics in this essay:
Tree House, Babe Ruth, tree house, deep philosophical, left window, answers questions, sit sit, edge woods,