We always fought over the top bunk. In fact, I usually started the fight. I was the oldest of the three boys in my family. So my dibs meant the top bunk was somehow more desirable than the bottom. In reality, I didn't want the top bunk. Too hot up there. But conceding it to my brother gave me the imperial mantle of peacekeeper. And then, of course, he owed me one.
The bunks were in our camp on Lake Ossipee in New Hampshire. My parents wanted a place where their sons could run wild in the summers. My dad wasn't about to spend his hard-earned money on furniture for three rambunctious boys who were barely housebroken. So he made those beds.
Frucci men, by nature, are not exactly patient or exacting craftsmen. My dad picked up a couple of pine boards at the lumberyard, shoved them through a circular saw and drilled a couple of holes for bolts. It probably took all of an hour.
"File these," he said and without any more instruction he handed the boards off to me. I took a metal file to the rough edges. Then we stained the wood and assembled the beds. Voila! We boys had something infinitely valuable to fight over for year to come.
I slept well in that bunk. I laughed a lot with my brothers. We raised all kinds of Cain. I remember the cool lake breeze and the water lapping against the rocks. When my parents sold that camp years later, the new owners insisted on keeping those rough-hewn beds. Probably knew there was good kid magic in those old bunks.
Among the many things I learned from that experience was that furniture has to be functional. People needed a place to eat, sit, work and sleep. Our bunks were sturdy, safe and, best of all from my dad's point of view, cheap.
If you're looking for bunks - or any kind of kid furniture built to survive major shenanigans - skip the lumberyard. Stop by one of our three showrooms. You will find the good stuff, made well, at the best prices at Furniture Consignment Gallery.
