Storytime: A place for daredevils and kings of the universe

My brother is 16 months younger than me, a proven daredevil by nature.

Greg was a tough kid and so was I, but if anything went wrong, the oldest got the blame.

After all, I should have known better.

We were free-spirited children, roaming the neighborhood, discovering short cuts and biting dogs and climb-worthy trees. When neighborhood sides were chosen, my brother and I always tried to be on the same team.

Together, we were hard to beat.

When Greg was 6, he broke his arm jumping off the picnic table. It was his idea to run and fling ourselves into the air to see who could jump the farthest.

I should have known better.

My family was fortunate to live close to the city park, where my brother and I were allowed to wander on our own. Nothing scared us, nothing slowed us down.

Not even my brother’s broken arm.

That day, I beat Greg to the park and climbed quickly to the top of what we called “the big-o slide.” Before Greg could catch me, I sat down on the slide platform and pushed off. Greg was right behind me, and when he reached the top of the stairs, he stood on the platform, raised his good arm and his broken arm into the air, yelling for all the world to hear.

“I am the King of the Universe!”

By then, I was on the stairs, hot on his trail. It became a rhythmic frenzy of chasing, climbing and sliding when, suddenly, I watched as my little brother, above me on the slide platform, slipped. In his fall, Greg managed to hook his cast through the arm rail and there he was, hanging from the top of the giant slide, swinging by his broken arm.

I scurried up the ladder and tried to help, but nothing worked. I couldn’t pull him up, threaten him up, or shame him up. Greg was stuck, hanging by the crook of his plaster cast, his feet touching nothing but air.

“I’m going for help,” I told him. “Stay right there.”

I can still hear my brother laughing as I took off at a dead run. I knew all the short cuts, so it didn’t take me long to get home. My plan was to get my older sister to help without involving a parent.

I thought that was an excellent plan.

Still, I had to promise to do dishes in my sister’s place for a week before she would follow me, saying, “This better be good.”

Apparently it was, because when my sister saw Greg swinging by his arm in the breeze, she screamed and started running. Together we managed to pull him onto the platform and free his cast.

Then Greg stood up straight, raised his arms and yelled “I am the King of the Universe,” before sliding down into the arms of my sister who dragged us home, telling me I should have known better.

In time, I reluctantly let my own children climb the steep ladder of that big-o slide, putting their hands in the same places where my brother and I had placed ours. At the top, each of my kids would do just what they’d been told. They would stand on the platform and yell “I am the King of the Universe.”

Every child should have the chance to feel that way.

It wasn’t long before that old metal contraption was taken down, a piece of my childhood gone. That slide reminded me of a time when neighborhood kids spent their days outdoors, when rock, paper, scissors settled disputes, and bedtime was when the streetlight came on.

That big-o slide was replaced with covered chutes, a swinging bridge, and a climbing pole. Still, at the top of that modern slide is a platform for the next generation of daredevils and kings of the universe who reach for the sky and throw caution to the wind.

Kids who should know better.

You can reach Lorry at lorrysstorys@gmail.com.

This article originally appeared on Columbia Daily Tribune: Storytime: A place for daredevils and kings of the universe