It was a club with only two members, my son and I. We built many things in Builder’s Club, all were made from pillows. There were six pillows on the master bed; if we used his bedroom pillows, we had eight. Our Builder’s Club world was the king size bed my wife and I shared. We would build a fort and huddle inside while pirates in the waters around the bed fired their cannons and shook the room with the force of their blasts.
We would pile the pillows up and hewould climb to the top and see if he could grasp the edge of the loft area above the bed. As the years passed and he grew, he got closer and closer to that goal. We’d wrestle with the monster; alternating which one of us was the monster. We’d build a giant boat and set sail in stormy seas with waves strangely shaped like pillows washing over us.
We didn’t do Builder’s Club every night. In the beginning when my son was 4 or 5 it was every other night. As the years went by and other games came it was once a week. For me, it was a time to get close to my son. I was right there next to him. I could feel his soft skin, hear his breathing, and bite his toes (if I was the monster). I could catch him when he fell back from the tower of pillows. He trusted me to be there. Builder’s Club was a great time for both of us.
“Dad, we haven’t done Builder’s Club in a long time”, he said one night. He was maybe eleven. “I don’t know, Son”, I replied, “I’ve had a tough day and I’m too tired for Builder’s Club. Maybe tomorrow, okay?” “Sure Dad”, he said and went back to a computer game. We never played Builder’s Club again. He just grew out of it. I still get a long hug and a kiss on the lips at bedtime and special occasions like birthdays and holidays. But the physical intimacy we shared during Builder’s Club is now just a teary-eyed memory. What a fool I was.
kongoboken 