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James’ son thinks his room is too small. That’s why they spend the night in a tent.
My son and I are sleeping in a tent tonight. He was complaining about his room yesterday. He no longer likes his room. And especially too small. In his room, there is not enough space for his Legos and also not enough space to play football. And there is no place to play football and lego at the same time. The poor baby. To show how incredibly big his room is, we’re sleeping in a tent tonight.
My son watches me unroll the tent. It’s a small tent. I borrowed it from friends.
“Do you know what you are doing, dad? he asks.
“Yes, I am very good at camping.”
“But I’ve never seen you camping.”
“I had a life before you were born, didn’t I? A wonderful life full of friends, camping, sleep and impulsiveness.
“I don’t believe you. You’re too busy in your head to camp and you have two left hands.
“That’s to say fake news† I’m very handy when I want to be a handyman. When you were four, I built a kitchen for you.
“That little kitchen that collapsed after a month, Dad?
“Sure, but it’s been a long month, son. Longest month ever.
Two hours later we are in a twisted tent. My son is reading a Donald Duck with a flashlight and I’m reading at the same time.
“Isn’t this tent much smaller than your room?” There is no place for Legos here.
“Yes, but this tent is prettier than my room. Really super comfortable or something like that.
“So we have to make your room smaller?”
“I don’t know if it’s possible, but I think it would be fun. Here in this tent, I can really only do two things. Read or sleep. In my room, I can do so much that I can’t do anything about it, you understand? It’s a lot of things that I started but didn’t finish. Puzzles, Lego castles, more puzzles. I can’t do anything here in this tent. It also creates space.
“You’re really smart for a nine-year-old. I still have that too. Large spaces demand things from a person. Activities. Movement. Attention. Just like a garden really. I’ve never had a garden.”
“Me neither, Dad.”
An hour later, we both try to fall asleep, but it doesn’t work. It’s a summer day. The sun shines through our tent.
“Maybe we should start telling scary stories. That’s part of camping, right?” he asks.
“Yeah, sort of. In fact, they belong more to campfires, but I understand you. Want a scary story? »
“Yeah, the scariest story ever, dad.”
“This story takes place in this neighborhood. Thirty years ago.
“What is it about?”
“About the tent monster.”
“It’s ringing lame†
“So there is a monster that loves human flesh. But this monster is not so fast. No, he’s not an athletic freak. One day the monster is so hungry, but everyone is going too fast for him. Then he passes a campsite and sets up a tent. As you put on a sweater, so this monster puts on a tent.
“Why set up a tent?”
“He lies down on the grass and falls asleep. Until someone unzips the tent and walks into his mouth. The monster is so happy. And he’s never hungry again. People just walk into his mouth.
“This story is more clever than scary.”
“Yes, but I’m not there yet. The ending is terribly scary.
“How scary?”
“Really super scary. My hands are already shaking, see?
“If the ending is really that scary, I think I just want to go home. My room may be small, but it’s my room. And there are no monsters there.
We roll up the tent together and walk home.
“Home is nicer than I thought, Dad,” he said halfway.
“Home is everything, dear boy.”
James Worthy (41) is a writer, journalist and columnist. He is married to Artie and father of James (8). For Libelle James writes chronicles in which love is central: for his parents, his family and his life. Witty, sometimes heartbreaking, but above all honest and moving.
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