TC: Climbing Trees Is Very Dangerous

I’ve grown up in a very dangerous world. No, no, don’t laugh, this is not something that should be taken lightly. Actually, my world is so dangerous I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m in some extended version of The Hunger Games or something. So, congratulations to me. I’m turning 23 in less than a week and I’m not dead yet. I must be a born survivor. 

Actually, I’m not. Not any more than most of you are. I consider my world to be fairly safe when compared to those in real danger. I’ve grown up in Northern Europe, had a proper education, quite a big roof over my head and access to more food than I should eat. I’ve never had to worry about having enough to drink. I’ve seen people die, but only from old age. When I woke up startled in the middle of night with the sound of gunshots echoing in my head, I had my mom there to tell me it was just a dream. It always was. 

But I grew up making my own cup of tea when I came home. I got to walk to and from school by myself. Sometimes I didn’t wash my hands before dinner. I didn’t always have an 11 o’clock snack with me. I’m pretty sure I’ve talked to strangers — how well did I really know that guy who always walked his dog near school? I patted his dog one time and barely pulled away my hand in time. I’ve played doctor with kids who, for all I knew, might’ve been sick for real. I’ve lived dangerously, wildly, right? No? Wait ’til you hear this: I climbed trees.

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