Wednesday, September 16, 2015

The daddy mac'll make you jump jump

"Mrs. J?"

My mother received a phone call at work.  It was the babysitter.

"Yes? Is everything OK with the kids?"

We had just moved to Israel.  I was 10, Josh was 8, and Sam was about to turn 3.  It was summer, so we hadn't started school yet, and we were living in temporary housing while our regular house was being readied for us.

"Um, the children are jumping off the roof of the house onto mattresses and pillows they pulled into the front yard."

It was a small, one-story house.  So the roof wasn't very high.  And though I don't have a specific recollection on this point, I'm assuming it was just Josh and me doing the jumping.  Sam was too little.

I don't remember getting in trouble, though it's possible we did.  But for whatever reason, we were drawn to that roof.  It was easy to climb onto, and like I said, it wasn't very high.

I've always been drawn to roofs and high spaces. (Maybe that's why, as grueling as it is, I like being on the summit of a 14er, standing right on the edge.) When I was 5 and 6 years old and we were living in Caracas,Venezuela, I could climb from one of the upstairs patios up onto the red-tiled roof of our house in Altamira.  I would sit with my legs on either side of the peak of the house (it wasn't a steep pitch at all) and play with the loose tiles.

I was fine.  We were fine.

So I wasn't remotely alarmed when I walked into the kids' room last night to see what all the noise and fuss was about and saw this:

I guess the apples don't fall far from the tree.

And frankly, I feel like they're aiming a little low.

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