Recently, I saw a police report about two 11-year-old Lebanon boys who were charged with criminal trespassing for, officers said, climbing onto the roof of an empty building.

One of the boys fell off and was treated at a hospital and released; the other became trapped on a second-floor balcony and had to be rescued by firefighters.

OK, so maybe these two aren't the world's brightest young roof runners, but charging them with criminal trespass? Yuck!

But that's how we treat kids today. We adults gripe at them for spending too much time in front of the TV or killing space aliens in computer games with names such as "Blood, Gore, Death and Mayhem" (suitable for ages 8 and older).

We say, "Go outside and play," but then, when they do kid things such as roof running, they get busted.

Sheesh!

If adults had been this weird when I was a boy, I would have a police record so long that the only job I could get as a grown-up would be congressman.

In "my" old Ephrata neighborhood, bounded by East Main, South State, East Fulton and Lake streets, we kids roamed like a herd of wildebeests. We daily violated private-property rights, including taking "shortcuts" through people's backyards. But as long as we didn't tromp on flowerbeds, break windows or burn down houses, nobody cared.

OK, some did.

For example, there was a fence between my house at 86 E. Fulton St. and the house next door at 82 E. Fulton, lived in by a man named Charlie. The fence stretched the length of the property from Fulton Street to "the alley." (Its actual name is Gross Street, but I was probably 10 years old before I knew that.)

At the alley's end, the fence bisected a narrow passageway between two concrete buildings, making it possible to walk on the fence while touching the buildings for support. That's what I was doing one day along with my friends Mike and Duke.

As we were engaged in this mindless entertainment, I saw Charlie heading our way. The angry look on his face and his purposeful stride signaled trouble, so Duke and I jumped down.

Mike, on the other hand, was frozen on the fence like a deer in a car's headlights. All he could do was say, "Hi, Charlie."

Without returning the "Hi," Charlie snatched Mike off the fence, and, like an NFL kicker going for the extra point, booted Mike clear out onto Gross Street, about 10 feet away. Mike hit the ground running, and we three took off like jackrabbits.

If we had played by today's rules, Mike would have gone home and told his parents, who would have had Charlie arrested for assault. But, back then, if we had told our parents about it, all they would've done was said, "Serves you right."

Charlie's message was clear: "Stay off the fence." And we did, at least when Charlie was home.

But as I have recounted before in this space, my childhood included hundreds of hours of adventures that, in today's world, could've landed me in trouble. For instance, we sometimes climbed onto the roof of Fulton Street Elementary School to retrieve a ball. We just weren't dumb enough to fall off.

But if we had, our parents would simply have said, "Serves you right."

lalexander@lnpnews.com