Father/Son Bonding (Thanks Mom!)

My family has always given useful gifts – boxes of joy with everyday purpose. It has been like that my whole life (Except the three Christmases in a row when I received a flashlight. It was like giving a Cub Scout a pocketknife…I mean, come on, he already has eight!). Although the ‘rents are divorced, they came together in an extraordinary way to make my 25th birthday one fifty-seconds-and-five-minutes I will never forget.

Secrets have no longevity among my family, especially when they find their way somehow to my mother’s lips. Her “mysterious” hints had the subtly of the 800 naked bicyclists who rode past me last month here in Portland. Saturday morning, at 8:30 a.m., I was going to be hurtling back to Earth at 120 mph.

Now, the great thing about skydiving is supposed to be the thrill of the jump, and it was unbelievable! 13,000 feet straight down. The fall was definitely one my favorite parts, although it as much smoother and calmer than I thought it would be. No, I think the best was watching my 64-year-old father sit down with his feet dangling out of the plane, then see his face zip away behind the plane. That’s right! My father and I have quite a shared resume: four major mountains tackled, snow caves camped in, countries explored together, buildings remodeled, and even herding lambs just separated from their mothers (by far the most physically and mentally exerting activity on the list). We even both put up with me in middle school.

My mother funded the expedition, and my father and I now share a bond few father-son duos have: Both of us jumped head first out of an airplane flying 80 mph, fell the entire height of Mt. Hood at 120 mph and both lived to do it again.