If “Survivor” was filled at your childhood home

The familiar glow of dawn shone through the curtains of the childhood bedroom, casting a gentle light on the race car bed – an artifact from years gone by. Nestled within the confines of this whimsical bed was Jordan, a “Survivor” contestant, whose rugged exterior belied his present state of vulnerability. Wrapped up snugly, he enjoyed a peace that was quite at odds with the usual Survivor challenges.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and in marched a stout, slightly graying man in pajamas. It was Dad, irritation evident on his face, his grip on the morning newspaper tight.

“You think this is some luxury resort for a reality TV show?” he bellowed. “My house, my rules! And no one, I repeat, no one sleeps in past seven!”

As Jordan groaned, pulling his blanket over his head, hoping perhaps to disappear into the comfort of the bed, a soothing presence made its way in. Mom, always the pacifier, entered with a tray. The tantalizing aroma of breakfast wafted through the room, hinting at scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and a freshly brewed cup of coffee.

“Oh, let him be,” she said. “He’s had a hard time. A little breakfast in bed won’t hurt.”

Dad’s sigh echoed through the room, but he bit back any retort. “Eat up quickly. There’s a challenge awaiting you in the backyard. And trust me, mowing this lawn is no joke!”