Sky Diving

During my son's senior year of high school, I was introduced to the sport of sky diving. Although I'm not sure why they call falling a sport; maybe the landing part is the sport.

Regardless a half dozen people in my office, including some girls arranged for a club from Spearfish  to jump in Pierre. Not to be outdone I asked my son if he'd be interested in this "bonding" experience.

He agreed and I signed us up. Their jumpmaster packed the chutes, so training the day before was relatively brief.  Jump out, count to ten; look up and if you don't have a good chute, pull the right ring to cut the main chute, then pull the left ring for the reserve chute. i'm wondering just how bad it would have to be before I'd cut that first chute.

When you land, flare the chute and keep both legs together.

I watch the plane go up, people jump and land and know I'll do the same. Nothing to fear till we circle up about a mile and I'm  reminded of Paul Lynde on Hollywood Squares, when they asked him, "How high do you have to be to sky dive?" He answered, "Oh , five or six stiff ones should work for me."

When it's my turn, the jumpmaster opens the door, wind swirls through and my heart jumps to my throat. He says, "Come sit in the door and put your feet on the wheel.  Now grab the struct and walk out to the tape mark with your hands. When we're over the jump zone, I'll signal and you let go."About this time, I notice that the strap to my chute is attached only by a velcro strip, but I realize its only purpose is to pull out a hankercief-size chutethat pulls out the main chute.

I count to ten, look up, see a good chute, say "Hallelujah!" and start singing "The Ballad of the Green Berets" as I flew back and forth in the direction of a big orange arrow that the ground crew used to direct me to the landing spot. When I was five feet off the ground, I pulled both steering rings, the chute flared and it was like stepping off a chair.

Something everyone should do once.