Edited version:
My father was quite handy. He not only made tools, he added a room to our home just for me when I was perhaps three or four years old.
He converted a window into a doorway that opened into my new bedroom, built alongside the kitchen wall on the north side of the house. I appreciated very much my father building this room, by hand, all by himself. I watched as he built it, and was amazed he could do such a thing.
I felt thrilled with the room—it was very enjoyable, being specifically designed for a little boy. I had a single bed, and drawers for my toys were built under the clothes-hanging area of the closet. On the north side he placed a window up high to admit light, but you couldn’t look out of it. On the west side, windows occupied most of the wall. The neighbor’s tree nearly filled my view out those windows.
As a boy, I would often go and see scary movies, either with my parents or in the kiddies’ matinees. Then at night, when I woke up, especially when the wind was blowing through the tree, I would imagine all kinds of scary things in the shapes created by the leaves and branches. I especially imagined gorillas, because gorillas were popular in the movies at that time. I guess I enjoyed being scared a little bit that way.