Jump.

I sat in the tree and started panicking about how I was going to get down. My 8 year old legs dangled off the sturdy branch but I was too scared to stand up to turn around to go back the way I came. My little brother climbed trees all of the time – right to the top – neighbours often left their houses to shout at him to get down, as he swayed on tiny branches. There was no way any of the adults could climb that high and they probably realised if he got stuck, like a cat, the fire brigade would have to be called. It was a skill that would have been revered in the Pacific islands where coconuts needed to be cut down; in northern England in the 1980’s not so much. I also wanted to be able to climb trees but was nowhere near as fearless as he was.

The ground looked so far away. I felt like I was on top of a huge cliff and I was convinced I was going to die if I jumped. Thankfully none of the 15 or so feral kids from our street were there to see my cowardace. I am pretty sure if they were they would have climbed up behind me and pushed. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and jump.

The blood was fairly instant and its metallic taste flooded my mouth. I had hit the ground hard and my rabbit like big teeth had exploded through my bottom lip as I landed. Bursting into tears I ran the 10 metres or so home to get help. Reassured I wasn’t about to die, the bleeding eventually stopped and I ended up with a bottom lip influencers now could only dream of.

I didn’t climb that tree again but was hanging off underpasses a couple of years later dropping the three metres or so to the ground when my finger tips couldn’t hold on any longer. I have another memory of dangling upside down on a kids climbing frame at twelve, right on the cupse of teenagehood and self-conciousness.

These little big risks shape kids sense of danger and confidence. Although it didn’t end well I couldn’t help but be proud that I did it – I climbed that tree! Yes I got hurt when I jumped off but I never jumped with my mouth open again. The no nonsence mopping up of the blood by my parents probably helped a lot. Fix it up, go back out to play. Our house, probably like many in the 1980’s, always had a supply of medical tape and steri-strips, aka paper stitches, as there was always one of us “feral” children bruised and bloody from stuff we got up to.

I also remember turning about ten years old and sitting in our porch surrounded by kids while I tried to beat my score on Tetris. We had a Gameboy and all of the kids wanted a go. I was reigning champion but my competition was fierce. We all got one or two shots each then we went back outside to play run around the block or something similiar. We had other options – electronics were just one part of what we could do, and that is how it should be now. Phones, video games and other devices have a place in childhoods, but kids shouldn’t only have this as an option. They need time to socialise, to run about and fall over, to make up games with ridiculous rules that no adult would understand, to learn all of the soft skills they need – how to stand up for themselves, how to be creative and how to problem solve getting stuck up trees.