In the early 1980s, whenever we piled into the family sedan, my siblings and I would jostle one another for space in the back seat. If one of us extended a millimeter of thigh or shoulder beyond our allotment, accusations would fly.

Once, to escape, I climbed onto the ledge above the back seat. I pressed my fingers against the cool glass of the rear window and watched the highway spool away. Tucked into this cozy compartment, I was blissfully unaware that, in a collision, I could have gone flying through the entire car and into the windshield.

My parents must have reasoned that I was safe back there, with my father at the helm. Before you rush to judgment, let’s remember those were laissez-faire days. Wearing seatbelts in California wasn’t required until 1986, and airbags weren’t federally mandated until 1998.

At the time, hardly anyone was strapped into the back seat, which is why we could treat it like a jungle gym. Still, anyone driving past would have been astonished to spot me on the ledge so close to the rear window.

I must have noticed the flashing lights and heard the sirens of the California Highway Patrol car. After getting pulled over, my father told the officer: “She must have sneaked up there. I didn’t see her.”

In my recollection, he wasn’t nervous or stammering. If anything, he and the officer seemed to be in on a joke together: Kids! Whatcha gonna do? The entire family got in on the joke too, acting innocent. Nothing to see here! I don’t know if the officer believed us, but he let us off with only a warning.