What goes up, must come down
As I climb up the backside of the
garage, which is built into a small hill in my friend’s backyard, I gaze in
wide wonder at my surroundings. I, who am but a small and insignificant
creature to all the largeness surrounding me, am about to undertake a grand and
bold adventure. In my hands, the instrument of my upcoming greatness or so I
perceive at the time. I am convinced that not only will my new undertaking
provide me with thrills but also unmitigated awe from all my friends who
eagerly await the results below. The great thing about being a child is the
unending goal of grand exploration which probably explains why at the time I
thought it was perfectly acceptable to use the ladder propped against the back
of the garage to ascend the airy peak of the garage roof. As previously stated
the garage was built into the back of a hill which means that in the back it is
only one story tall but in the front it is a glorious two story drop to the pavement
below.
I can still
remember the feeling, I have had it several times in my life since then, that
feeling of thrilling excitement coursing through my body, heightening my senses
and brightening all the colors of the spectrum. But also that small tremor of
fear that tickles the backside of your brain where all your doubts reside. That
small and often ignored voice of common sense lamely trying to squeak out its
warning through the pulse pounding excitement in your head. I often refer to that voice and fear as my
inner Darwin warning me of the dangers of natural selection. But alas I ignore
it more often than not which will ultimately prove to be of great detriment
through the later years of my life.
As a child I
understood the basic principles of gravity, being a young boy how could I not.
I run and jump and climb and ultimately fall, so this theory of gravity is
nothing new to me. But a seed has been planted, a whole new idea of gravity and
how I just might be able to defeat it. What is this seed I speak of, why parachutes of course. Having
been regaled by my grandfather’s glorious stories of his career and exploits as
a paratrooper in the Army I have been introduced to a whole new idea of
falling. Grown men, much bigger than myself routinely strap parachutes onto
their bodies and fling themselves out of perfectly good airplanes. And so that
is what has invaded my head on this bright and sunny summer afternoon. For you
see, my illustrious grandfather has sent me a present, my very own parachute.
It is much smaller than the ones used by the Army but in my infinite wisdom I
have concluded that I do not need such a large parachute as I am small also. Years
later my mother still blames my grandfather for this series of events.
As I stand
poised above my awe inspired friends below I take one last sweeping gaze at my
surroundings and prepare to leap into history. One small step for man, one
giant leap for mankind, or so the story goes. At the very last second a small
peep form my inner Darwin squeaks out “this is not a good idea”. But before I
lose my nerve, I leave the roof in one big step, and plummet like a rock to the
demise of my much anticipated summer of running and jumping and climbing.
Because after my very brief descent I slam into the concrete with an
unceremonious crunch followed by an unbelievable pain as my leg informs me that it has broken in two. And so my adventure and my summer vacation ended almost as
quickly as it had begun with my friends standing in wide eyed and awe inspired
wonder at my crumpled form.
Years later these were the memories
that came to my mind as I found myself standing in the back of an Army transport
plane flying high above the lush green forests of Ft. Benning, Georgia preparing to hurl myself from a perfectly good
airplane. Darwin be damned.
