When I brought Hal home to Washington for the very first time, my folks had a little trick up their sleeves. I vowed to keep it a secret. You should know, my childhood home is considered by my LA friends to be in the boonies.
It was a cold October night. Coming back from the airport, my parents told him he'd be sleeping alone in the "guest house". Once we got home, my dad didn't park. He kept on driving down their 1.5 acre property to the modest treehouse he build for my brother and I as kids. We're not talking about a luxury treehouse like this one. Or this one. My dad did a mighty fine job, but it's a little more crude. A little more abandoned. In the woods. Pitch black.
"Here's the guest house!" my parents said. They took a sleeping back out of the trunk and gave Hal a flashlight. I was straight faced as I kissed him goodnight and got back into the car. We drove away and left him there. Looking behind us, I saw him slowly creep up the rickety stairs and enter the decaying treehouse. His flashlight beam raced around in panic.
"We have to turn back!" I freaked out. Cracking up, we returned and shouted up for Hal to get back in the car. His pale face looked so relieved. Apparently there were cobwebs and spiders covering the walls. What a good sport. He later admitted that he thought the trick was hilarious. It reassured him that he'd fit in with my family well. Which made me giddy. And made me love him all the much more.
{Image via Cosmic Dust}
