I’ve always hated helicopters.

My dad was a flying nut and always took us to airshows during the summer. They were ok, but I usually wanted to be somewhere else. He meant well, trying to share something he loved passionately with his sons, but I would have much rather played ball with the guys than watch these old machines fly in circles.

To top it off, during my 12th summer he took us to one where they sold helicopter rides and made me and my brother go with him. I told him I didn’t want to go, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. The noise, the vibration and the height conspired to eliminate any desire for being anywhere near one of those things ever again.

Crap! I jolted back to reality. The winch jerked and the sling dug into my armpits. I looked up, wind and rain stinging my eyes, and saw I was almost there. My wife and son were already on the rescue chopper, waiting for me to join them. We’ll replace the things we lost, but we’ll all be together.

I don’t think I mind helicopters so much anymore.