Told my grandson I once climbed a roof for a cricket ball. His parents now hear about it daily

My grandson has discovered that I was once six years old. He asks for a story most afternoons when he is with me, and I made the mistake of telling him how I climbed onto our neighbour's roof to fetch a cricket ball. Every refusal from his parents is now met with 'Thatha climbed a roof.' They are amused, mostly. I've started choosing my stories more carefully. Have other grandparents edited their childhoods for the grandchildren, or is the truth the better policy?