Rooftop memories

For weeks my mom has been asking me if I’d climb on her roof and remove the broken bricks that were lying there from falling from the chimney. She asked me to do this because she knows I’m not afraid of heights and having helped my dad re-roof it years ago (junior high age) she knew I could do it with out a problem. Even thought the entire time she would be out there pissing her pants telling me to be careful. But every time we were visiting I would forget about it. Finally, Sunday, I decided to do it. It’s easy to access from the upstairs office window. I climbed out started shoving bricks and debris with out giving anyone below any notice really. We had all been sitting out in their front yard just in front of the porch. I heard some grumbling but went on my way.

The bricks were just laying the on lowest part of the roof that is right over the porch but I decided to climb up on the top by the chimney which is about the tallest part of the roof. I was fine but realized I did have a small fracture of fear that escaped me more than fifteen years ago. Its funny how things like that change the older you get (at least it does for me). I never once stood up on my feet. I stayed either on my knees or my behind. I remember running around on that thing back in the day like I was prancing around a wild flower field.

One summer I was grounded and it was during fireworks season. I had climbed up on top of the roof and was able to watch all of the fireworks shows that each town was putting on. I’m almost certain it was the fourth of July (it’s a bit foggy). The rebellious side of me found a way to enjoy the holiday even though I was grounded. On Sunday when I was up there I found where I carved out my name on one of the bricks in the chimney. I asked my dad (who was anxiously waiting for me by the office window) to hand me his phone so I could take a pictures of it. Now, this sparked a fire under the peanut gallery’s asses watching below. I heard a lot of mocking about how I need to take a photo so I could blog about it. I’m pretty sure most of the mocking came from my husband.

“I need to risk my life taking a photo of this so I can blog about it…this is when I was a teenager and I carved my name…” blah-blah-blah-blah

Jerks.

And now I write this with their judging voices in my head out of spite.

At least I’m not afraid of heights.

I was thinking about the fear I had as I was sweeping the leaves off with the broom and I didn’t like the way it felt. I wasn’t scared but I was extra cautious. It made me wonder why as adults we stop doing the so-called dangerous things we did as children. I could list a million reasons why but for me personally I didn’t really like that I had changed in that way. It left me longing for that carefree, fearless attitude I had years ago.

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