The dangers of climbing campus roofs, or “roofing,” far outweigh the potential benefits of such an irresponsible activity. Placing myself in the precarious situation of balancing on a 30-foot-high wall and blending into the trees to avoid getting caught by public safety only speaks poorly of my character. The financial, social and physical risks of roofing carry severe consequences that I should strive to avoid by not roofing again.

Upon my acceptance to PLNU, I promised to abide by the rules of that fine institution. Instead of following my gut instinct -- “No, stupid! Heights are not your friend!” -- or following the University’s code of conduct, which clearly states that the school considers this an illicit activity, I disobeyed the rules. By roofing, I broke my promise, and therefore lowered the honor and value of all my subsequent promises. I allowed my friends to persuade me in the direction of a dangerous, adrenaline-filled evening. They dragged me into an hour of barely finding footholds and roughly scraping knees, of reaching for helpful hands to pull me up and breathless laughter flat on our backs with nothing but glittering stars and the gently smiling moon over our heads. This is clearly against the school’s policy, and I should not repeat these hazardous activities.

Roofing carries a heavy fine at PLNU. College students have little money to begin with, owing to a regrettably steep tuition. The large fine, however, does not come without good reason. The fine is used to discourage students from roofing; it would be better to pay a $500 fine than a significantly higher hospital bill, and better than both not to go roofing and pay nothing at all. This logic only works, though, if those who go on the roofs fall off…or get caught.

Theoretically, if a student were to neither fall or get caught, then such a fine would not matter. In that case, roofing would be quite an excellent adventure. These “roofers” might quietly tiptoe around the whole roof to find the best view, or have contests to see who could spit the farthest off the side of the building or spook a random passerby by calling for them and hiding. The roofers might bask in the breeze of the ocean air and gaze out on the cityscape, basking in the lights that bloom against the night sky. Yes, I shamefacedly confess that I have been this hypothetical roofer, and I solemnly commit to never go roofing again.

It is with the sincerest of hearts that I apologize for participating in these actions. I have the scrapes to prove my guilt. I have the heavy memories of electricity jolting down my spine at the sight of Public Safety’s patrolmen wandering by with flashlights, and of being scared right down to my rattling bones as we melted into the roof while he passed, to weigh on my conscience for the rest of my life. The sagging shoulders and sighs of relief put a lovely bow on my risky night—after evading capture, slipping softly to the bricks below, silently congratulating my friends on an hour well-spent and returning safely to my dorm. And because of the thrill, the laughter and the memories from my exhilarating experience, I can say with the utmost confidence:

I definitely won’t go on the roofs again.