ONE DAY WE ARE CHILDREN, THEN THE MIRRORS ARE GONE

My dad passed away a few years ago. I have many memories of him though, sadly enough, there are many that I wish I could forget. I try to focus on his stronger side, the one that showed up when he was sober. Though, some of his not-so-sober moments are funny too.

One of the memories that hit me now and then are the moments I would watch him skydive. I used to stand on the ground and watch my dad and uncle float to the ground. It is a sight that a boy never forgets. They amazed me then and I'm still amazed.

The small air strip was very near our home. I would often plant myself in our back yard and watch the locals jump from the planes. It was a peaceful, familiar site. On just such a day, as I stretched out in the grass, dreaming of the day I could be that person, I watched a man jump. I watched the spot grow larger and larger. I began to count under my breath. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10.... then, that familiar, peaceful feeling broke. I had counted too many numbers. The count grew, the chute did not appear and I jumped to my feet. I knew. I ran to my father, yelling. Somehow in that moment he could help. He scrambled out to see the spot vanish behind the tree line.

It was a relief in some ways to learn that the man was gone before he hit the ground. His heart had stopped during the fall. He didn't even have time to pull the cord. But I never watched the jumps from our yard after that. The days of lazy, jump watching ceased to exist for me. The magic was revealed to be nothing more than illusion. It was just a jump, a tempt of fate, like any other fall.

I've never jumped from a plane. I have placed that task on my bucket list. If I get to the place where I know I'm about to kick it, I might just take the plunge. If I'm able to count to 10 I'll pull the cord. If my heart has other ideas, Man, What a way to go.