When Jubal was much smaller, his birthday parties were big events with about fifteen little boys running around our house and yard. As he got older, he whittled his celebration down to include only Nate Fisher, Matt Brown and James Morrill. When Jim's dad built the treehouse, it became tradition for the boys to spend the night up there, despite the fact that Jubal's birthday falls in the middle of November. Last night, the mercury dipped to about 30•F but that's no problem for Maine-bred boys with warm sleeping bags. Some years have had more excitement than others. I recall the year I made a 2am call to the police because the boys thought for sure they had seen a stabbing at the neighbor's house from their treetop vantage point. This year there was a bit of laughter when, as the boys headed out the door, I called out, "If you guys see anyone murdered tonight, just come in and let me know!" I prefer a bit less excitement, like the year the boys made their own pizzas and the oven caught fire. I handled it quite calmly and extinguished the flames as I flung out the contents of the orange Arm and Hammer box. The only casualty was poor Matthew Brown's pizza. Baking soda is apparently not an appetizing pizza topping. There was no pizza this year as all of us, minus James, had attended the Coastal Christian Soccer Banquet that evening. I did, however send them up with some Moxie Chocolate cake to go along with their array of candy and soda..
Each year I have made the bleary-eyed crew pancakes as they emerge from their chilly, semi-sleepless night. Tell was quite happy to accept the mission, this morning, of climbing the ladder and informing the boys that breakfast would soon be on the table.
As I watched him ascend, it struck me, how quickly time has passed since Jubal was Tell's age and that these teenage boys only have a few more of these treehouse birthdays left and so I will enjoy the moments and memories.
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