With nervous hands I pull the goggles over my eyes. I tighten the straps around my torso and triple-checked my pack for emergency strings and light flare. My boots are so snug that I’ve lost all feeling in my toes. I try to tell the pilot that I can’t, nope, no way, we will fly another day. But words have failed me at this point. Our instructor pulls open the hatchet door and wind gushes in and out forcefully. I grab onto a rail inside the airplane as my knees buckle and the color drains from my face.
“I don’t think this a good idea!” I scream over the roar of the turbines. I’d cry, but the wind has dried out my eyes.

“An idea it was! Where’s your sense of adventure, sonny?” With swift movement, Grandma assessed her bearings one last time and stepped to the edge of the open door.

“But I’m too young to die!” At this point I’m sobbing and I grab her hand.

“You’re never too young to live,” she said with a toothy grin and we jumped.