The Circus.
One summers day when we had told our mother enumerable times that 'there is nothing to do'. She gave us some fabric and told us to go play with it. Expect she wanted to say something else.
We took the fabric and went to the playhouse. A converted chicken shed. Thinking.
Finally one of us...probably my older sibling decided that a circus would be a good idea. We would invite the neighbor kids and charge them five cents for the privilege. Mom made lemonade and cookies. more of a bribe than a gift.
I think it was the influence of Andy Rooney and Judy Garland films that inspired us. You know. We need to make money. I've got a barn. I have some costumes (read fabric to make costumes). I have....etc.
Sister decided that as the younger I should take orders. HAH!! Never a good move with me.
She may have had the idea but I was the creative one....much to my later chagrin. 
The window of the shanty was high and we put two large fuel oil barrels across from it and a huge crowbar on top. Somehow tied on both sides. But not well. 
Sister was a crap sewer but better than me, so she made me a costume. I was to be an acrobat. A 'flying Wallinda'. Not good.
As I practiced my fabulous 'moves' on the rusty crowbar, my sister created my equally (NOT) fabulous costume. A pair of shorts and a funny top, not unlike the first cutting of the Santa outfit made by the Grinch...remember?
This took all morning. By the afternoon we thought all was ready. Hah! 
As the master of ceremony, my sister did front of house and back of house....while I limbered up in the shanty. Getting ready for their 'awe and shock'. Well I think I succeeded in at least one and it wasn't awe.
All was ready. A large log served as seating and the lemonade and cookies went down a treat.
Then me. Ordered out by my sister I did all the right things. Posturing and posing while she said Ta da! Now, here on this stage (stage?) presently ......etc.
I began my act with a leap to the crowbar, henceforth to be known as my death trap. I swung from one arm and then from two. The 'audience' was not impressed. My sister was not impressed. I tried harder. Finally I attempted (don't tell mom) a complete circuit of the bar in a wild and erratic swing. I failed.
My pants so loosely put together by my idiot sister broke open to show my white knickers. I was horrified. She was horrified. They were killing themselves...and horrified.
As the pants ripped, I lost grip on the rusty crowbar, the oil cans slipped the crowbar went off the side and so did I.
I hit the ground hard and the crowbar landed inches behind me
I got up scared beyond belief and then furious.
I turned on my sister. My sister turned on me. We began a screaming match of accusations. No-one won. 
'You should have made the costume better' 'you shouldn't be so fat' You nearly got me killed' You should have tied the bar down better' This went on for a while as we both eventually calmed down. She knew I could have been killed. I knew she knew. We were both wrong. I showed off a little to much and she, well she will never work for Dior. So there.
Went we finally looked around at our 'audience' they had quietly gone leaving their nickels on the log. 
Kids eh?