I was about seven and a half when my sisters and I pulled this stunt. We were watching our favorite TV show when we heard our brother, Chris, yelling from the backyard. We found him hanging from the highest branch of a tree, crying because he couldn't get down. We tried to climb up to help but failed.
My youngest sister, Ka, then five and a half, suggested we grab a sheet, hold it under him, and tell him to drop. My other sister, Yams, looked to me for confirmation, and I agreed.
We got a sheet from the closet. Keep in mind, we were only between five and a half and seven and a half years old, so the sheet was held barely waist-high and nearly touched the ground. Yet, we were confident.
We told the hesitant Chris to let go and fall on his back. "Are you sure I'll land on the blanket?" he asked in his cute, squeaky voice, which, due to a minor tongue-tie, sounded like, "Ah you sho awill lan on da blanked?" "Yup! We're sure!" I replied. He let go.
Thinking back, I see his faith in us—and how foolish that trust was. Chris fell right through the sheet onto his stomach. Despite our grip, he made a hole straight through it.
Shocked, we saw him lying motionless on the ground, his body positioned almost comically like a chalk outline. We bent down, worried. "Are you okay?" we asked. He uttered, "Ah stee hi da flow"—"I still hit the floor!"
Before you judge us, Chris is now fourteen. He still teases us about it, climbs down from trees by himself, and, oddly, wants to be a firefighter. He can certainly claim personal experience with jumping and catching. No harm done.