Today I am daydreaming of a litte boy running circles round this toy teepee, stashing who-knows-what in there or maybe crawling in with books to hide and daydream himself, too.
Dad Quixote’s daydream differs. He gathers up his son and whispers in his ear, conspires to steal mom’s good sheets when she’s not looking, then drape them cross the sofa. Living room furniture rearrangement is a must: tunnels are essential. And of course, girls are not allowed. After all, this is a fort, not a princess castle. And girls have the stinky talent of making everything pretty.
They’re not the most politically correct of daydreams, I’ll give you that. But they are dreams of playing with our children yet-to-come and there isn’t much censoring in that.