I was four.
Most of us don't remember anything from that age. Me? I remember one thing clearly; I liked pirates because pirates are awesome.
I wanted to sail the seven seas and do all kinds of scurvy-free pirate-like activities, but we were about as land-locked as could be. However, my mom had a rocking chair that moved sufficiently to be a perfect substitute for the waves of the ocean. I put a box (my ship) on the chair and started rocking to simulate the waves of the sea. It was pretty awesome, if I do say so myself. But it wasn't the true pirate experience.
I needed to be able to climb to the top of the mast and use my telescope to scan for the evil pirate ships my imaginary crew was going to ransack. I stuck a box on top of my ship and then a box on top of that box. In total I had a pile of three rickety boxes on top of a rocking chair.
“I don't think this is a good idea” said my little brother.
I ignored him because, well, I had evil pirates to find. I climbed onto the rocking chair and then into the pile of boxes that somehow held my weight. Rocking back was fine, but when I rocked forward my momentum catapulted me into the air. Four broken bones later I was forced to admit that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't a good idea after all.