Parents: Let your kids out to play

My childhood had a simple structure: Leave the house, come back when hungry.

Nobody tracked my location. Nobody scheduled my fun. I roamed a small Irish village with a rotating gang of kids, knocking on doors to collect whoever was free, wandering fields we didn’t own, climbing trees we absolutely shouldn’t have.

Our treehouse was born from boredom. Three of us, on a long summer afternoon, with nothing to do.

Our treehouse — built from stolen timber, held together, technically, by two bent nails — would have given a structural engineer a full breakdown. We were enormously proud of it.

Bumps and bruises

There were scuffles. Real ones, occasionally bloody, always brief. Someone would throw a punch over some perceived injustice. A disputed goal, a broken rule, an insult that