Shinybass Journal Entry 02/11/25

Forts.

My little brother is a great gift-giver. He truly loves to give without the thought of giving back
which helps me out a lot because I admittedly don’t give back with the same enthusiasm.
Heck, up until recently I didn’t have anyone’s birthday on my calendar. The Cook Rulebook,
Chapter 3, Article 2 under ‘birthday cards’ clearly states: ‘if designated birthday parcel is
POSTMARKED by the recipient’s actual birthday, the sender is off the hook.’ I fail at that one as
well. My brother gets into the heads of the kids, possibly reverting to his own childhood
thinking ‘If our parents could afford this (or if it existed) when we were kids, would we have loved it?’

One such gift arrived, possibly for Christmas, and it was called the ‘AirTent’. This marvel is, in
fact, a tent, that connects to a box fan (box fan not included), and the tent is supported by the
force of the wind. The lightweight parachute-like material doesn’t need much to keep it in its
proper shape, which resembles an elongated igloo.

I’m not going to lie – it’s pretty cool. Literally and figuratively. Once you are inside, the tent is
pretty roomy, and in the summer with that cool breeze hitting you, it’s all one can do to not
grab a bunch of stuffed animals and curl up for a nap. In the winter, it’s a different story. Our
house IS heated, but when the temps outside are subzero, it is wildly counterintuitive to have a
fan blowing, and getting into the tent requires a bit of a bundle up between the months of
November and probably somebody in my family’s birthday.

The other day, during one of those sub zero temp days, my youngest came to me and said
‘Dad! I know what we can do today! AIR FORT!’ I got out the fan, fired it up, and cringed as I
felt the cold wind swirl around the slowly inflating yurt. This yurt was gonna hurt. As a Dad I am
in charge of many things I didn’t want or ask, such as soggy paper lollipop sticks and used
gum disposal. My hand has been the trash can for over a decade now, and there’s a side of me
that never wants it to stop having to tackle duties one hadn’t anticipated. But I digress. There
was a frosty fort waiting for me, and I was hoping it would include something resembling a
polar bear wanting to loan me his fur.

My son didn’t let me enter the fort until it was properly prepared and stocked, and like any
good soldier, did not present his post and provisions for inspection until he was ready. When I
crawled under the soft poly-blend silk(ish) wall of the Air Fort, I was welcomed with all the
proper forting essentials: snacks, Lego minifigures, pillows, reading lamps, and a book. As I
scanned the inventory, I was overcome with emotion upon spying the last, most essential item
in the room: a blanket. A single tear trailed down my half-frozen cheek as I get settled into
forting.

As a kid I didn’t have a fancy Air Fort. We had a blanket crocheted by my Mother, which was
ok, but the holes certainly offered little in the way of protection. The sofa fort is always fun, but
sadly there are very few kids with degrees in architectural design, so the ‘triple cushion
standing on edge’ blueprint didn’t last very long. In reality, not many designs made it very far.
Blankets always seemed to stretch just shy of the mark, and the 2’x2’ sofa cushion on its side
made a pretty lame sized fort as well. Of course if you sneeze the wrong way the whole thing
falls and starts a fight anyway.

What is it about forts that draws us in? The creative play is important. The problem solving, the
independence of having our own real estate is pretty cool. Evolving into an army battle is
always fun, too. As I got older, I used to make forts in the neighborhood out of discarded
plywood and whatever else we could find. Our epic fortifications would see very little real
combat, although we were prepared if enemies attacked.

Then I have to get philosophical and overanalyze the beauty of a fort. Who doesn’t want the
‘safe space’, the small, cozy environ that feels like a warm, comforting hug? Stock it with your
favorites (they still make Oreos and Capri Sun), and you have ‘your’ space. How cool is that?
We grow up into adulting and forget how that feels. We forget the simple importance of a hug
whether literal or metaphorical, and lose sight of the importance of a small private space that
we can call our own. We have a nook in our upstairs playroom I envisioned as my reading area
until the oldest made it a shrine to the beautiful game, adorning the cubby with posters and
autographs from his favorite soccer teams and players. I remember walking through an open
house with Maegan and the owner had built an ‘audio closet’ off the main hallway. The room
had a small desk, a very expensive turntable, and about 1000 records, all in the space of what
was once a utility closet. He had his fort for sure.

I have an audio fort as well. My studio space (originally intended as an office for you Muggles)
is cozy and works as my escape. I don’t have snacks or anything, but I can probably arrange
for some to be brought in. I have a couple of willing helpers that would love to see Dad eat junk
food every now and then. I think it’s important to have a spot we can call our own, even if you
see a small part of the house as a refuge.

The ‘man cave’ or ‘she shed’ is part fort, part escape from reality, which is what being the
owner of a fort represents. I love a good playroom, but I also think that doesn’t embody the
true nature of the fort. It should push your limits of thought, not let you sink into laziness. We all
need a calculated escape, but, and this is just me, I don’t see many thinking items in a man
cave. I see autographs on jerseys of people who did NOT stay in a fort (not to say they don’t
have their OWN man caves), but people who put in time and effort into their craft. Ironically the
leisure room turns into a shrine worshiping the ones who worked the hardest.

As I have learned the hard way, the escape is needed. Those that don’t have forts settle for a
corner at their local coffee shop and plug away on a laptop or hop in the sauna at the Y for 20
minutes of sweaty fort time. We all need a place to call our own. I don’t mean the office or the
desk at home. I speak of the occasional additional reset spot – the adult time out(?) – where we
can shut ‘it’ all out. Most adults opt for their bedroom under the covers. Ahh yes, the most
basic, primitive and earliest of early child development forts. Hide our eyes from the monster in
the closet and it all goes away, right?

I needed my son to open my eyes to the beauty of ‘the fort’ again. Sometimes the children
recognize we need a pivot, and somehow take us to magical, whimsical places, forcing us to
be different, silly, and ‘remember’. I am fully campaigning for more personal fort time in my life;
the dedicated safe spot that I can enjoy for a few moments of bliss. I’ll keep the notebook
handy in there in case I have any more brilliant ideas. And possibly a blanket close by.