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 Sometimes, kids do the dumbest things.
 

The parts of the brain that give us good judgment aren’t available until our late teens and twenties, so as kids we go with what feels right in the moment.
 

What’s the dumbest thing you did as a kid?
 

Here’s the story of what may be my dumbest move:
 

As the eldest of four brothers, all born within a span of four and a half years, I was the big kid in our family. The year after my parents divorced and my mom left the home, we started getting used to being in the house without an adult around. My father worked full time and often reminded me of my special role as the ‘“banks of the river,” to ensure the safety and good behavior of my brothers. This was a hard balance to strike, being thirteen years old and still wanting to play as much as the next kid. I had moments of high responsibility. We all loved to roughhouse and tumble around, and most disagreements or competitions for a toy would end up on the floor in an arm-twisting, push-pulling, high-squealing, hard-scrabbling wrestling match until one kid gave in or started crying from an injury. I remember watching over the combatants and darting in and out to move side tables or lamps out of the way or yelling, “Move away from the bureau!” or from another hard and immovable object. To this day I often end up being the voice of reason and safety when I am around kids who are roughhousing.
 

We were always searching for new games and activities around the house after the old standbys of playing roughhousing games and tag up and down the stairs lost their appeal. I had figured out you could climb out of a dormer window in the third-floor bedroom onto the steep pitched roof, and if you inched carefully around and up on your butt and feet, you could reach a flat platform in the middle of the gabled roofing. I had gone up there to be by myself without the other brothers finding out and was generally pretty careful and cautious when I ventured out, as it would be a three-story fall onto yard, asphalt, or concrete walkway if I slipped. Somehow, my brothers caught wind of this and from time to time we would all make the difficult and careful trek out the window and up the incline to then sit on the platform and enjoy the view of the trees, the neighbors’ roofs, and the park across the street.
 

Where was my banks-of-the-river self during these incredibly dangerous sojourns, you might ask? There we were, four boys, aged nine to thirteen, together on the roof in broad daylight, unseen and unsupervised, and we thought we were pretty darn cool for being able to brave this danger and return home safely. When even this activity started to lose its luster, we brought one of our tried-and-true games into this new playground: we decided it was a good idea to play tag on the roof.
 

I shudder with fear, shame, and embarrassment as I write these words. Someone would be it, and the others would scatter to the edges of the platform or hide over one or the other gable, hoping the treads on their sneakers held their grip and they could keep their center of gravity low enough to keep their balance. Believe it or not, we would play tag on the roof often, and somehow no one ever saw us up there.
 

One afternoon, my uncle Al had come for a visit when my dad was not around, and he took us out for pizza and played board games with us at home. After he left, we decided to head up to the roof for a good game of tag, and then we heard a voice from the street, bellowing with rage: “Hey you kids, get off that fucking roof—right now!” This was coming from my uncle, a Catholic priest, wearing his Roman collar, in broad daylight. Perhaps sensing trouble was brewing, he had circled back about fifteen minutes after he had left. He was justifiably furious with us and especially lit into me, giving me the banks-of-the-river speech and listing all the risks and calamities that could easily happen with such stupid, bull-headed, idiotic, irresponsible, and shameful behavior.

 

As I reflect on this story today, after I get over the lingering shock that it actually happened, I look for logic that helps makes sense of it, some method to the madness. First, we might see it as a very inefficient and risky call for help that ultimately summoned a responsible adult. I also went up to the roof and played tag there to escape, to get away from the ever empty-feeling house and to connect with strong and vital feelings: excitement, fear, breaking the rules…