Everybody Needs A Treehouse

Everybody Needs A Treehouse

A Short Story
By Frank Sperry


We were the only family in our neighborhood that had a treehouse in their backyard. I think that was probably because my Dad was the only person I knew who was thirty-seven going on eight. I didn’t mind that at all since that made him the same age as me. When you have two sisters and no brothers, somebody in your family has to be the one you can really share a treehouse with.

That’s probably not too kind to say about my sisters, but then Sarah was twelve and not yet a teenager, and she still thought all boys were icky and not too kind to begin with. That must have been God’s way of preparing her to learn to make a fool of herself over boys, like my cousin Megan. My other sister Caroline was only two years old and her little legs could barely climb the ladder to the treehouse, but I didn’t hold that against her. My Mom told me that was kind of me.

Our dog, Franco, was two years old just like my sister Caroline but he could scoot up the steps to our treehouse in a minute. He could even do it in thirty seconds whenever the neighbor’s dog, Sebastian, came into our backyard to harass him. Sebastian was a Saint Bernard, but he acted more like a giant pit bull. My Dad said Sebastian had no social skills at all cause he didn’t get along with any of the other dogs in the neighborhood. Franco was a Boston Terrier but he must have had the blood that Sebastian should have got as a puppy because Franco was gentle and sociable, except whenever Sebastian came around. When that happened Franco ran for his life on his tiny legs to reach our enclosed porch. But when the screen door was closed, Franco turned and darted up the treehouse stairs. After he caught his breath Franco stood on the edge of the treehouse deck, looked down at Sebastian and seemed to taunt him for being too heavy to try to climb the stairs.

Mr. Whitney who lived next door and who owned Sebastian had a fence around his backyard but the fence was only as high as my chin and it didn’t keep Sebastian from jumping over it and terrorizing the neighborhood. He could jump that fence as easily as I saw a horse on TV jump over fences when he was chasing a fox. Mr. Whitney wasn’t a very friendly man. My Dad said he thought the fence was to keep people and animals from coming in and not to keep Sebastian from getting out.

The only time Franco was safe was when he was up in the treehouse with my Dad and me. If Franco could talk I would have asked him if he enjoyed the treehouse as much as my Dad and me did. Dad said he built the treehouse so the boys of the house would have what he called a ‘sanctuary’.” After all we were outnumbered three to two, unless you counted Franco. He was a boy like us, but he wasn’t a human boy, so I didn’t know if he could be counted.

I got the idea of making a sign for the treehouse that said ‘boys only’ but my Dad told me that wouldn’t be too kind of me. I know why. I looked out my bedroom window one night when I was supposed to be asleep, and in the moonlight I saw my Mom and Dad both up in the treehouse. They were holding hands and talking. So much for a sanctuary for boys only.

I asked my Dad one time when we were up in the treehouse why Mr. Whitney didn’t build his fence taller than my chin. He said something about some guy named covenants who told everybody in our neighborhood if they built a fence it could only be so high. This Mr. Covenants seemed to be in charge of the neighborhood, like the mayor or somebody. I wondered if we could find this guy covenants and get him to tell everyone that they had to keep their dog in their own backyard.
One Saturday morning I looked out in the backyard and saw Franco up in the treehouse looking down at Sebastian. “Dad”, I yelled, “Sebastian’s in our yard again and he’s got Franco cornered up in the treehouse.”

My Dad came from the living room and we both went out back. I stayed inside the enclosed porch. I never knew for sure whether Sebastian could tell the difference between boy kids and boy dogs. My Dad went in the backyard. Sebastian heard the screendoor close, turned and saw my Dad coming down the steps. He ran away and jumped over his fence back into his own yard. Just like the other terrorists I heard Bush talking about on TV, Sebastian was a coward and ran away when he saw someone who wasn’t afraid of him.

Mr. Whitney was in his backyard cutting his grass. My Dad went over to the fence and waved at him. Mr. Whitney didn’t wave back. He just kept pushing his lawnmower. He looked as if he was mad at the grass for just growing.
My Dad called to Mr. Whitney and finally he let the mower stop and came over to the fence, wiping his forehead.

I had never heard Mr. Whitney say very much so I went over to the fence and stood beside my Dad.
“Mr. Whitney” my Dad said, “Do you think there is anyway you can keep Sebastian from coming in our yard? He scares Franco.”

Mr.Whitney looked madder at my Dad than he did the grass. “There’s not much I can do about him jumping the fence. I’m certainly not going to stake him to the ground just because your dog doesn’t like him.”

“No, of course we wouldn’t want you to stake him to the ground. Dogs need to have their freedom. I just thought….”

Mr. Whitney interrupted my Dad before he could finish. “Maybe if you had built yourself a fence instead of that damn treehouse it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Mr. Whitney, you know a fence can only be so high,” my Dad said.

“Yes I know it. If I could have I would have built my fence taller than the branches of that tree which is practically hanging over in my yard. I shouldn’t have to keep raking up your leaves every fall.”

“I’d be glad to rake up the leaves whenever they fall on your property.” My Dad told him.
He just looked even madder and said, “If it was up to me I’d cut that tree down.”

When I heard him say that I couldn’t keep quiet. I butted in even though my Dad had told me I should never do that when two big people were talking. “We can’t do that,” I said. “What about our treehouse? The tree holds it up.”

“Too bad” he said, looking even meaner when he looked down at me.“Who needs a treehouse? Nobody does.”

My Dad took my hand to signal to me it that it was time to end our talk with Mr. Whitney. “Tyler, you’re not supposed to interrupt when two adults are talking.” He said to me as we turned away.

We walked away from the fence but Mr. Whitney yelled “Let me know if you decide to do something about that tree with branches hanging over my property. If not, I can do something about it.”
“Do you really think Mr. Whitney might cut down our tree?” I asked my Dad as we went up the stairs to our back porch.

“I don’t think so, Tyler. He’s mean, but I don’t think he’s that mean”
my Dad said.

“He seems like a pretty mean bugger to me” I told my Dad as we went in the house. “It’s no wonder Sebastian never learned to be sociable.”
During the week whenever we were in our backyard we never had to worry about Sebastian jumping his fence. Mr. Whitney lived by himself. His wife moved away with their son not long after we first moved into our house. My Mom told me it was after that he didn’t seem to like anyone anymore. Sarah was only jealous of Caroline, but I think Mr. Whitney was jealous of our whole family because he didn’t have one.

When he went away to go to his work he must have wanted Sebastian to stay in the house and not get picked up by Animal Control for running loose in the neighborhood. I noticed that some people who are not friendly like Mr. Whitney always thought that other people would do the same thing they would do if they saw a dog running loose up and down the block. Mr. Whitney was the only one I knew who would ever have called Animal Control.

Any way I was glad we could have some time in our backyard where we didn’t have to run up in the treehouse to escape that overgrown pit bull. My sister Caroline was out in the yard with Franco and me sometimes when it was safe and I used the time to teach her how to climb the steps to the treehouse.

I told Sarah that she should have been the one to teach Caroline new stuff but she didn’t. I think she found out that Caroline was too young to be bossed. Besides Sarah could not hide that she was jealous of Caroline. I could tell Sarah felt she was getting too big to sit on my Dad’s lap. One time I saw her looking at Caroline on my Dad’s lap and I told her she could sit on my lap but she just stuck out her tongue and threw a pillow at me when my Dad wasn’t looking. My Mom tried to make it up to Sarah and put her arm around her whenever they sat on the couch together watching TV.

My Mom and Dad mostly had each other. I mostly had Franco. Caroline had everyone in the family. But Sarah felt like she didn’t have a partner and had to act like she was my boss. That’s why I think a lot of times she stuck out her tongue at me just like a snake. I could hardly wait till next year when Sarah was ready to get interested in boys, and could try out her bossing on them. Maybe that would keep her from turning into a Whitney.

When a week went by and Mr. Whitney had not cut our tree down I figured we were safe. I found out the next day that Mr. Whitney was not only mean, he was clever enough to try to get someone else to do what he couldn’t do himself. I overheard my Dad telling my Mom that Mr. Whitney had complained to the Homeowners’ Association that our treehouse broke one of Mr. Covenant’s rules.

I was in the kitchen when my Dad was holding the letter that had come in the mail and he was reading it to my Mom:….”We regret to inform you that it has come to our attention that a man-made structure in your yard is in violation of section 3.2 which clearly says that no structure shall be built less than fifteen feet contiguous to any property line.”

“What does it say we have to do?” my Mom asked him.

“It says we have to remove it within thirty days.” My Dad said.

I didn’t understand what the words in the letter meant. My Dad probably knew what contigyouus meant but I sure didn’t, so I broke the ‘two big people talking rule’ and said, “ Does contigyouus mean we have to cut down our tree, Dad?”

“Not really, Tyler. God made the tree. They just want us to take down the part that we added to the tree,” my Dad told me.

“That Mr. Whitney is a mean bugger. He must have paid that Covenant guy to send us that letter”, I said. “Can’t we figure out something we can do to keep our treehouse?”

“Not unless we can figure out some way to bend an oak tree about five feet away from the Whitney fence.”

“We can tie a big rope to it and pull it with the bumper on our van.” Just as soon as I had said that I knew how silly that must have sounded to my Mom and Dad. Our van didn’t even have a bumper that you could tie a rope to. It was built-in to the front of the van.

My Dad handed the letter to my Mom and she sat down at the kitchen table and read it again to herself. When she was finished she said, “Isn’t there something we can do? It says if we believe there is no violation we can appeal to the Homeowners Association Committee.”

My Dad just shook his head and told her “There doesn’t seem to be much room to appeal. I’m sure Mr. Whitney measured the distance carefully before he made his complaint.”

“Maybe we could say he needs glasses and measured it wrong”, I piped in, looking to find anything that came in to my head.

My Dad looked down in the dumps, like there was no hope of being able to keep the treehouse. “We may just have to enjoy it for one more month”, he said.

My Mom was like me. She was not ready to give up too easy. “Could we possibly move the treehouse to that other tree that sits near the back of the lot near the creek”, she asked my Dad.
“Not really” he said. “The branches have to be spread out just right so they can hold the boards for the platform deck.”

“Yeah, Mom. The branches need to be spread out like a big wooden hand. Dad knows that stuff. He’s a carpenter. He knows how to build houses. Treehouses and bigger houses. Right, Dad?” I said, trying my best to cheer him up.

My Mom still did not want to give up. “Well then I think we should appeal it to the Homeowners Committee.” She looked up at my Dad from the kitchen table. She could see as quick as I could that he needed some cheering up, that she needed to try to make him smile. “We’ll tell them it was Tyler’s idea to build the treehouse”, she said. “What does a seven-year old know about covenants?”

“Right” I said. “I’ll plead ignorance. I’ll tell them I never even heard about this guy before. And I can tell them for sure I know I never even met any body named Covenants in this neighborhood. He must be a friend of Mr. Whitney’s from another neighborhood.”

Just about then my sister Caroline came in to the kitchen from the other room. She was probably not getting any attention from Sarah who was supposed to be watching her. Caroline opened the silverware draw, took out a spoon and began banging the spoon on the kitchen table. I think that was her way of telling my Mom it was time for her lunch. She learned that trick from a movie on Television she watched with me last night about guys in prison who got mad cause they were hungry. That made both Mom and Dad smile. They both quit worrying about the letter from the Covenants guy anymore. My Dad picked up Caroline and hugged her, while I managed to take the spoon from her hand, cause she was hurting my ears and giving me a headache.

Sarah had been in the other room but now with nobody in there to boss, she came into the kitchen to see what all the spoon banging was about. I handed her the spoon I had taken from Caroline in case she was hungry and had seen that part of the prison movie last night before she fell asleep on the couch.

“Did you hear the bad news”, I said to her. “Mr. Whitney’s friend sent Dad a letter and said we have to take down our treehouse.”

“I didn’t know Mr.Whitney had a friend. Why did he do that?”she asked, looking over at my Dad.
I didn’t wait for my Dad to answer her before I did.

“Cause he must not like the idea of there being a safe place where Franco could escape from the pit bull, who got the wrong blood at the Animal hospital when he was a puppy.”
“What pit bull?” Sarah asked.

“He sometimes goes by the name of Sebastian”, I told her. “Sebastian Whitney, the neighborhood terrorist.”

The next day when my Dad came home from work we were all in the family room. Even before she gave my Dad our good or bad behavior report she told my Dad that she had called Mr. Sheridan.

“Do I know someone named Sheridan?’ he asked her.
“He’s the President of the Homeowner’s Association.” She told him. “The one who signed the letter about our treehouse.”

“Did he say we could keep our treehouse?” I asked her. I was having a lot of trouble with the two-big-person-rule over this treehouse situation.
“No, he didn’t”, my Mom said. “He said the Homeowner’s Committee was going to meet at his house next Tuesday night at 7 O’clock. He said they would listen to our appeal at that time.”
“Is Mr. Whitney going to be there too” my Dad asked her.

“I’m not sure. I didn’t ask him.” She said.
My Dad still did not sound cheered up when he said “I’ll go and make a plea, but I’m not sure we really have an appeal.”

“I looked all over for the copy of the covenants we got when we bought this house but I couldn’t find them in the file cabinet in the garage. That’s where I thought they should have been,” my Mom said.

“If we can’t find them, maybe Mr. Whitney will lend us his copy ” my Dad said. “I’m sure he must have been looking at his copy recently.”

“I’m glad to see you haven’t completely lost your sense of humor,” my Mom said to him.

The next day my Mom called my Dad at work on his cell phone. She only did that when it was important, like the time Caroline fell out of bed when she was taking a nap or the time Sarah and me missed our school bus.

“I found the covenant papers” I heard my Mom tell him. They were misfiled in the folder with Franco’s adoption papers. Don’t ask me how I found them. I just did.”

“What did Dad say when you told him you found the papers?” I asked my Mom when she hung up the phone.
“He said he was up on a roof. I could read them to him when he came home.”

After we ate supper that night we all had our regular jobs to do. My Mom and Sarah’s job was to do the dishes after Dad and me cleared the table. Caroline’s job was to wait until Franco finished his supper, then put him out in the backyard and let him back in the house when she saw that he had done his business.

When everyone had finished their jobs we went in to the family room to watch TV or read. Dad usually read the newspaper but tonight he was reading the covenant paper that my Mom had found. She sat on the arm of the big blue chair where my Dad was sitting, and looked over his shoulder while he was reading the covenant paper.
Caroline was on the floor with one of her coloring books. Sarah was reading one of her library books, or at least pretending to be.

I was watching a Turner Classic Movie about another prison story. It must have been prison story month. I liked to watch them a lot after supper except whenever it must have been love story month. My Mom said it was OK for me and Sarah to watch Turner Classic Movies even if they were for big people because they were the only movies on TV that didn’t allow any curse words.
I couldn’t keep my mind on the TV because I was listening to what my Mom and Dad were saying.

“I doubt whether it will work.” I heard my Dad say to my Mom. I don’t see why not”, my Mom said. “ The language seems to be clear enough. Besides it makes sense when you think about it. Most people would want it under the branches of a tree to keep it in a shaded area.”

“I still think that’s a stretch” my Dad told her.
The next Tuesday night after supper it was time for the meeting at Mr. Sheridan’s house. My Mom decided that she would stay home with the girls. At the last minute my Dad said he thought we should take Franco. He said if dogs were not allowed at meetings he could stay outside in the van. He put the leash on him and told my Mom “If Franco is one of the main reasons for keeping our treehouse in our backyard then I think he should be there.”

“He can’t talk, but me and Dad can do the talking for him” I said.

When we drove to Mr. Sheridan’s house my Dad and me went up to the door while Franco stayed in the car with his nose sticking out of the open space at the top of the van window.

My Dad rang the doorbell and after a minute an older man with only a little ring of white hair above his ears came to the front door.

“Hi”, my Dad said, “I’m Dale Cavanaugh. This is my son, Tyler. We got your letter about our treehouse. We wanted to talk to you about it.”
“Yes, Yes, the treehouse on Somerset Drive. I’m Richard Sheridan, please come in.”

My Dad glanced at our van parked in the driveway and then turned back to Mr. Sheridan and said. “Mr. Sheridan, would you mind at all if we brought Franco in with us? He’s very well mannered, but he sometimes gets a little hyper if he is left in the van alone.”

“That would be fine,” he said. “The other board members are inside but I’m sure they won’t mind. Most of them have dogs of their own and probably wouldn’t want their own dog left alone in a car.”
I said a quick prayer to whatever saint was in charge of dogs that Mr. Whitney was not one of the other dog people inside.

My Dad went to our van, got Franco and we all went inside with Mr. Sheridan.

There were three men and three ladies sitting in the living room. I couldn’t tell from their faces which ones had dogs and which ones didn’t so I didn’t know who to smile at first. One lady with a funny hat and a scarf around her neck frowned and made a face when she saw Franco. The scarf lady was probably one of the no dog people.
Mr. Sheridan told all the people me and my Dad’s name and then told us their names as he pointed to them. I didn’t remember any of their names but I listened carefully and I’m sure I didn’t hear anyone mentioned who was named Covenants.

After a while when me and my Dad were sitting on folding chairs that the man brought in from another room, Mr. Sheridan went back to his chair and said “Mr. Cavanaugh is here to discuss the letter he received concerning a treehouse that was erected on their property, but which does not comply with the covenants.”

I looked around the room when he had said that to see if anyone there nodded his head or gave any other sign that he was covenants. No one did. Everyone looked innocently straight ahead at Mr. Sheridan.

I looked at the glass stagecoach clock on the mantel. It said five after seven.

Everyone was quiet and looking at Mr. Sheridan, waiting for him to talk.

“Mr. Cavanaugh, our meeting had already been called to order just before you arrived. We were just about ready to take up old business. We can discuss the letter you received about the treehouse if you would like.
”
“Yes sir” my Dad said. We would like to talk about our treehouse.”

My Dad reached into his pocket and took out a paper. He looked at the paper for a few seconds then he said. ”We want to appeal the finding that our treehouse is not in compliance based on Section 3.2.1 which says ‘A man-made structure, other than one which is for a pet, shall not be constructed less than fifteen feet from any property line’”

Mr. Sheridan looked at my Dad over the edge of his glasses and said “Mr. Cavanaugh, what exactly do you mean by that? I personally went out there and saw that the treehouse in your backyard was less than fifteen feet from your neighbor’s fence.”

“Excuse me Mr. Sheridan, but you seem to have missed the part about ‘other than one which is for a pet’. The primary user of the treehouse, in fact the one who needs the treehouse for his safety, is our dog, Franco.”

“Are you serious, Mr. Cavanaugh?” he asked.
“Yes sir, we are very serious. In fact we can show you pictures of the many times Franco has used the sanctuary of his treehouse for his safety.”

I couldn’t keep from butting in. “If Franco could talk, Sir, he would tell you himself. Without his treehouse his life is in mortal danger.” I said. Saying he was in mortal danger, I thought, would be a lot more serious than only venial danger.
After I said it, though, I knew I should have kept quiet. The penalty for breaking an eight big person rule was surely a lot worse than for only breaking a two big person rule.

Franco broke the keep quiet rule and barked just once as if to let everyone in the room know it was true. He couldn’t talk.

I saw one man sitting next to Mr. Sheridan who was smiling. The lady next to him with the scarf and the funny looking hat had big glasses hanging from her neck on a small string. She put on her glasses to get a better look at my Dad.

My Dad kept talking to Mr. Sheridan. “We used to have a doghouse for Franco that was on the ground but he couldn’t escape being terrorized because another dog managed to get his head in the doorway and scare him to death”

“Where is this ground level doghouse now?” Mr. Sheridan asked my Dad. “I didn’t see any doghouse when I went by your house.”

“It’s up in the tree house where Franco can go whenever he needs to be safe, which is quite often”, my Dad told him.

When he saw my Dad was finished talking, Mr. Sheridan said “Mr. Cavanaugh is there any thing else you’d like to tell us about your treehouse to help us believe it is really an elevated doghouse?”

“Just one more thing, Sir,” my Dad said. Then he added “If we have to take down our treehouse, would it be OK if I built another one for Franco that was away from the fence?”

“Do you have another tree in your yard away from the property line that could be used?” Mr. Sheridan asked him.

“Not really” my Dad told him.

“Then I don’t understand your question.”

“I was just wondering if our treehouse could be a doghouse if it was up in the air but not too close to the property line. That is, if we had another tree, which we don’t”

“I suppose to answer your question, if there was some reason why your doghouse had to be elevated, that would probably be OK.”

“Then you agree with me. A treehouse can be used as a doghouse, or used to hold a doghouse so that it is off the ground to keep the dog safe.”

“ Did I say that?” Mr. Sheridan asked.

“I’m not sure,” my Dad said. “But it does seem from what you said as if a doghouse doesn’t always have to be on the ground.”

I looked at my Dad and was more puzzled by his question than even the scarf lady seemed to be. Maybe he should have been a lawyer instead of a carpenter.

Mr. Sheridan had a look on his face that seemed to say he was still trying to figure out the right answer to my Dad’s question. He looked at the people and asked “ Does anyone have any question for Mr.Cavanaugh, before we vote on this matter?”

No one spoke.

“All those in favor of allowing the Cavanaugh’s treehouse to be considered a doghouse, please raise your hand.” He said.

Three hands went up and then the scarf lady slowly raised her hand higher than her hat. Two others looked at the raised hands and they raised their hands too. Mr., Sheridan counted the hands that were raised up and then raised his own.

“That makes it unanimous” he said. “It is agreed that Franco’s treehouse does not violate the covenants of the Queens Point Home Owners’ Association.”

Franco barked twice as if he was trying to say ‘Thank you’.

There was no neighborhood newspaper back in those days, but word about Franco’s treehouse spread throughout the neighborhood faster than Franco could run. Neighbors came by to look at the treehouse and asked my Dad if he would build a treehouse for them in their backyard.

After a few months many of the dogs in our neighborhood had a treehouse instead of a doghouse. Or I suppose I should say they had a doghouse that became a treehouse or vice versa.
One boy who was about my age at the time came by with his mother and asked my Dad to build a treehouse in their backyard so that he would have a reason to get a puppy for Christmas.

Then there were others who didn’t have a dog but who also wanted to have a treehouse. My Dad’s rule was if you didn’t have a dog you had to have a tree that was more than fifteen feet from the property line.

My Dad got so busy building treehouses for people that he quit his regular job helping to build houses for humans and he started his own business called “Everybody Needs a Treehouse.”

When I come home from College on holidays and sleep in my old room I still catch Mom and Dad sitting up in the treehouse.
Caroline will be graduating from High School next month. Sarah is married and has two little boys of her own. She hurried up and had children when she found out she couldn’t boss her husband.

Franco doesn’t need the treehouse anymore. He’s in heaven. My Mom and Dad got another dog last year that looks just like he could have been Franco’s twin.

No one ever heard from Mr. Whitney again. He sold his house and moved away about fifteen years ago, right after he found out we didn’t have to take down our treehouse….I mean Franco’s treehouse that he shared with all of us.