Leaping From Planes And Scarier Situations
Jumping out of an airplane Friday may not have been the scariest thing I did last week.
The day before, I took our oldest daughter to the Driver’s License office in Columbus to take her driver’s test.
As Ella, our oldest child, drove off with the instructor, I sat down on the sidewalk outside the office and chewed my fingernails to nubs.
Of course I wanted her to pass, but gosh what a life-changing event that would be if she did.
One less thing she’d need us for.
Instead of worry about driving her places, my wife and I would instead be worrying about her being out there on the road herself.
About ten minutes passed and she pulled back into the office parking lot.
For what seemed like an eternity she sat in the driver’s seat and the instructor talked to her.
She’d failed, I assumed, and the lady was telling her all the things she’d need to work on before she could take the test again.
Then Ella got out of the car, looked over and gave me the thumbs up sign.
She had passed! I was thrilled for her.
That night she made her inaugural drive by herself, to HEB, and roamed the aisles, picking out snacks of her choice, all of which, I’m sure, tasted like freedom.
The next morning I jumped out of that airplane.
I agreed to sign up for the Habitat for Humanity sky-diving fundraiser way back in February, but with each time the jump was postponed because of bad weather, I got more and more nervous.
My wife got tired of the jokes about life insurance.
Friday the day finally came and in the smallest airplane I’ve ever been in, I was sardined in with a pilot and three other people at Texas Sky-Diving in Lexington.
We climbed up to 10,000 feet (nearly two miles).
Over the hum of the engine I asked the young instructor I was going to be strapped to how many times he’d done this.
Chase, who looked to be in his mid-20s and was from Oregon, said our jump was going to be his 988th.
Even my confidence in someone that versed in sky-diving flew out the window when the door opened and we scooted to the edge of the plane, the overhead view of northern Lee County a checkerboard of green farmland below.
We flopped out and for about 40 seconds we free-fell at a speed of 120 miles per hour.
The skin on my face flapped like someone shaking out a blanket.
I tried to smile but my cheeks filled up like a blowfish.
I wish I could better describe the feeling of falling through the sky but words fail to properly capture it.
Chase pulled a cord that released the parachute and it felt like we shot skyward.
“How’s it going?” Chase asked.
“That parachute is one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen,” I responded.
I knew my family members down below could see the parachute open and could breathe the same sighs of relief I was.
We descended down for seven or eight minutes. Chase even let me steer the parachute for a while.
We floated through a cloud.
The landing was smooth, we skidded to a stop on our butts. Felt like I was sliding into home plate or something.
I had to assure people that was indeed dirt from that slide on the bottom of my shorts and not a product of fear.
Lots of people have asked me if I would do it again. I honestly don’t know, but I’m sure glad to have done it at least once.
I read that only about one-percent of people ever sky-dive. I got to do it – and do it for free – while at the same time raising money for a noble cause.
All the fearful build-up made the experience all the more worthwhile – as with so much in life.
Sometimes you just have to swallow hard, take a deep breath and have faith that all will turn out well.
That holds true whether you’re sitting in the doorway of an airplane two miles up, or handing off the keys to the car.