When I was a kid, my parents let me play. I grew up homeschooled, so I had more time than other kids—the bulk of which was spent running wild. I did do schoolwork—I wasn’t unschooled. But the bulk of my memories from childhood are of playing: constructing forts in the woods, building Playmobil towns in the living room, making up stories I could dress up and act out. I wasn’t stuck in a classroom all day, and I wasn’t tied up with after-school programs either. Instead of shuttling me from soccer to band to clarinet lessons, my mom let me loose to do whatever I wanted (within reason). So I built things. I read stories. I drew pictures and ripped holes in my jeans and got muddy and made a mess of the house and had the most amazing time. And because there was nothing I had to do, I wanted to try …