Sky Dive, Part 1

I watched them fall from the sky several days a week during the summers as I grew up.  Just over the trees as I looked off of the deck, I could see the colorful canopies open.  And on clear, crisp days, I could even hear them shout to each other from thousands of feet away in the sky.  I decided I wanted to do that someday.  I told my parents.  "Maybe for your 16th birthday.  You are too young to do it now."

I turned 16 at the end of May years later, and I didn't forget what had been said.  I knew what I wanted to do.  My gift that birthday: enough money to cover the cost of the lesson and first jump out of an airplane, if that is what I chose to use it for.  I have a suspicion that the hope was that once I had the money in my hand, I may just find a different use for it.  But I didn't.  I scheduled the lesson for early June.

I hung from the rafters of the hangar, pulling on ropes, imagining the real thing, learning how to turn, and brake, and what to do if the ropes were tangled, and how to deploy the reserve chute.  I practiced my body posture and learned the commands.  It wasn't long before I was ready.

I donned my ultra-fashionable, solid blue jumpsuit, and felt the weight of the parachute strapped to my 110 pound frame.  I got on my goggles, waved to my family and friends, and boarded the Cessna.  I am deathly afraid of heights, but there was no trace of nerves as I found my position in the tiny cabin.  (Interestingly, I have since found that it is common for the sense of fear to diminish one you are beyond "normal" heights.)  But no, I wasn't nervous at all...only excited beyond belief.

Once we reached the required height, the jump master opened the hatch and forced his face in the air, which distorted his features beyond recognition and made his face ripple like a pond.  He attached my static line, which would pull my chute for me the first several times I jumped, and barked the commands that ended with me perched with my left foot on a foot peg, my two hands on the wing of the plane, and my right foot dangling in the thin and chilly air.  He counted, and I let go.

(Ok, naptime is over.  To be continued...)