Once upon a summers eve many moons ago, I told my Dear Old Dad that I wanted to go skydiving. He said "Great! I want to do that too!’ Enquiries were made and alas we hit a road block… one had to be 16 years of age to legally go jump out of a perfectly good aircraft. "That’s okay," Dear Old Dad said in a placating tone "We can wait until next summer and go jump for your birthday." Dear Old Dad could be pretty cool from time to time. 🙂
An unremarkable year passes and summer starts to roll around bringing closer the sixteenth birthday in question – "Hey Dad! Still want to go skydiving with me?" Without hesitation, Dear Old Dad says "Sure thing! We should start looking around to find out where they jump from and how much it’s going to cost." Enquires were made and a company and jump plan decided upon… now just to wait out the few weeks until My Sweet Sixteen. Yay!
It was during those few weeks that not one, not two but three separate incidents sparked headlines across the BrisVegas newpapers all sprouting headlines of dead, or damn near dead, parachuters… investigations into preparedness, failing equipment and general safety procedures ensued.
Happy Birthday to me! Happy Birthday to me!
Happy Birthday dear Borys! Happy Birthday to me!
To Dear Old Dad the week of my sixteenth birthday – "Hey, I’m sixteen and all ready to go jump!"….. "Weeell," said Dear Old Dad, "I’m not so sure this is such a good idea after all…." Enthusiasm dampened somewhat by the recent headlines, the planned Daddy/Daughter Sky Diving Extravaganza got ‘postponed’… indefinitely. Bummer.
It has happened to me a few times actually that whenever I’ve considered engaging in any unusually risky sporting or recreational activity that it seems suddenly there will be a spate of news items relating to accidents or deaths associated with the particular endeavour du jour which has resulted in
a few slight changes in plans abandoning potentially reckless but crazy fun stuff…. bungee jumping and black water rafting come to mind.
Feels like it’s happening again… only this time it’s getting a motorbike license… I’ve always wanted to get a bike for some reason ever since I was about 18 or so – not sure why… pretty sure it’s irrelevant. Anyway… I don’t know if I’m physically strong enough to handle a bike atm but I realized I’ve been putting it off ever since I was about 20 because of ‘my bad back’ and well I’m not getting any younger or stronger and I kinda feel like I’ve gotta give it a go you know? So a couple of weeks ago I think "Yep, I’m going to go down to the nasty Qld Transport office and get me a motorbike learners even if it means I do have to temporarily hang out with the hairy unwashed miscreants that work there!!"… But then a few days after that sound decision making process played out – some idiot motorcyclist goes careering into a footpath right behind me and today poor yale had a traffic incident involving a rather unfortunate and possibly suicidal dog while on his bike…
and now I can hear Dear Old Dad’s wise words ""Weeell… I’m not so sure this is such a good idea after all."