The Fall

skydiving
Originally uploaded by MizVoid.

I don’t talk much about my bio-dad on here and I’m not sure why. If you know me, I’m pretty open, probably too open but for some reason I don’t bring him up a whole lot. I suppose there is some Freudian reason involving too much pain, guilt, shame, etc. or possibly I don’t feel like he deserves the press when I have a father that filled in for his duties on such a higher level for so long.

However, we’ve been getting along for several years now, almost 7 years. We’ve reached a place in our relationship that will probably be the plateau but I’ve accepted it and I enjoy it. Tonight I pick up the pottery piece I did for him and I made a realization. I usually seem to do something creative for someone at Christmas or their birthday, this year I unconsciously picked Bio-Dad. (If I could do something creative for everyone, I would, I just seem to only pick one or two people a year subconsciously. If it feels right, the idea comes to me. I'm a hippie.)

However, this has got me thinking about an important moment in my relationship with him. One that I wanted to share with you folks.

A year or so after I was married, I wrote him a letter. I spelled it all out…the part where I needed him in my life, but he could never be my father because I already had one. Where I told him how I’d like us to be friends and make more of an effort. How I forgave him even when I didn’t whole heartedly. Sometimes I need him more than I need to forgive him.

He wrote me back a beautiful letter that I still have to this day. So later that month we decided to get together for something other than the mandatory Christmas and Thanksgiving at Grandmas. I met him at the local airport to watch him skydive and to hang out with his jumping buddies. Bio-dad and my mother used to skydive when they were younger. Apparently mom went when she was pregnant a few times, so technically I’ve gone a lot more than I knew about. Mom doesn’t do it any longer, but bio-dad still flies skydivers and jumps himself. It was great! I rode up a couple times and sat by the door where they jumped, I watched them pack chutes and met all of his friends. I heard 100s of stories of jumps around the globe, naked skydiving and tales of people getting their licenses. We built a fire and sat around eating and enjoying the evening. The whole time I’d steal glances at bio-dad and get glimpses of myself.

Around 4:00 p.m. that day he said he’d pay for me to jump. This cost $175.00 at the time and I refuse to take money from him usually, but this felt right. I nervously but confidently said “FUCK YES!” and called theMan to tell him what I was doing. He missed my call so I was on my own that night for my first jump. Alone except for with bio-dad. (You can sorta imagine theMan’s concern when he didn’t hear from me for another 4 hours after receiving that message.)

On the plane ride up for my first jump that day it was sunset. A clear, pink and orange, gorgeous Midwest sky as far as you could see. The last plane ride of the day. I sat in the plane, my stomach turning in knots the whole way and listened to the excitement of the other jumpers all around me to take my mind off the fact that my altimeter kept climbing and my tandem buddy kept tightening my straps.

As we crouched our way over to the door I looked back to my bio-dad that had decided to jump with me. He smiled at me and I smiled at him and time froze. It sounds clichéd but I will forever remember that smile. The wind, the way the sound of the airplane and the open door completely drowned out everything, the way I knew if I looked forward I’d be 14,000 feet above the earth, the pink setting sun drenching the inside of that small plane, but mostly though, the smile. It was sorta as if that was that. No need for further apologies, no need for further hashing it all out, just 2 smiles that locked us and we’re stuck together forever by DNA or whatever you want to call it. Stuff poetry is made of. You get my drift?

So then, I fell. I fell and fell and fell and I didn’t open the chute because I was too excited looking at everything but it was okay. My chute opened and I was okay.

Once we hit the ground, it was a different story. The straps were too tight around my legs so I couldn’t bring them to my chest. So when we hit ground I hit the ground straight-leg and threw the 170 lb. guy strapped to my back, complete with full open chute over my head about 3 times. We rolled and the hanger cleared with people running to our rescue. My legs were in places God never intended, but I was so happy all I could do was laugh. No one was hurt. We should have been but we weren’t.

So I fell with my dad. I landed rough but I got up laughing. I suppose that could be a metaphor for something?