At 8 years old, my imagination was bolstered by cartoons on our black and white TV, and one of them was a blind character by the name of J. Quincy Magoo (Mr. Magoo). I was fascinated that he could step off a building or a hill, and float to the ground unscathed with his umbrella . One Saturday, my curiosity weighed heavier than my good sense, and I drug our old wooden ladder from the barn, put it up on the side of our house, then climbed to the roof with mama’s umbrella. There wasn’t much room between the side of our house and a fence that divided our lot from my Uncle Cecil’s yard. My calculations told me that a running leap, would carry me over the fence, then float down to the ground somewhere near the cherry tree in his lawn. I thought about how the newspaper and TV folks would talk to me about my adventure and how famous I would be. Maybe they would make umbrellas with my picture on them, like the knife I had that featured Roy Rogers and his horse Trigger on it. Mama and Granny would be so proud of me, and we might even buy a bigger house with all the famous money I was going to get. Mama was in our living room ironing clothes, and looking out of the window. Suddenly, she shouted “what was that?” and ran out to find me crumpled up on the ground next to our side of the fence. I had dropped like a rock and the fall from the rooftop had knocked the breath out of me, and left me with elbows and knees scraped and bleeding. She helped me up, saw that I could stand, and nothing appeared broken. She asked me what in the world I was thinking, then listened as I told her all about my famous plans. She looked at her only umbrella that was bent backwards, shook her head, and said “boy, you are just not right!” I never mimicked a cartoon again.