There is a skydiving school about 15 miles south of my home that my family and I had driven by numerous times. Often, we would see skydivers floating toward the target near the landing strip. Some would even float over the freeway momentarily while making a sharp turn to get back to their target. My daughter and I were always intrigued by the skydivers and I mentioned more than once that I was going to jump out of an airplane one day.

When Amanda was 18 years old, she suggested we go to the school the learn how to parachute. I was all in. An old airplane-hanger had been converted into a sky diving business. We were surprised to see that the place was furnished and decorated like a bohemian recreation center. A young, rag tag crew was hustling to and froe as their workday was in full swing. Throw rugs were placed here and there; used sofas, armchairs, and other furniture was randomly placed around the hanger.

A few minutes later, we were scheduled for the next flight. Shortly after watching a safety video our tandem guides showed up. Amanda's guide was a young fella wearing shorts and sandals. His casual attire didn't help my confidence at all. My guide was neatly dressed Italian gentleman. He was thin, probably between his late twenties to early thirties with a heavy accent. His mature, courteous, and sincere demeanor made me feel comfortable. He was very thorough when fitting me with the equipment.

We started walking to the plane but I didn't see Amanda. I was looking all over the place thinking paranoid dad thoughts. Where did this kid in shorts and sandals go with my daughter? There was no way in hell I was going to get on that plane if Amanda wasn't there.

As we stepped up the stairs I peeked in the plane before getting on to see if she was there. Sure enough, she was one of the first to board the plane, and she was sitting there happy as a clam.

Just before we took off, a couple of solo jumpers hopped on and sat on the floor by the open door. My guide told me they paid five dollars to catch a ride. When we reached 3000 feet, the two solo jumpers got up, stood next to the door, looked back at us, flashed us a peace sign, and out they went. Totally fearless, they corkscrewed through the air toward the ground. Their quick, deliberate action helped to build my confidence.

At 13,000 feet, I was the second guy out the door. My Italian guide, now tethered securely to me, shoved me out the door. No turning back now. Might as well enjoy the ride. A camera man freefalling with us was motioning to me to flap my arms like a bird one minute and to pose like Super Man another. It was a blast. When the parachute opened, a smooth motion slowed us to a safe speed. Every moment of the ephemeral view was spectacular. We landed softly on the grass in the target zone. I now have a video that documents the great father-daughter experience neither of us will forget.

One funny note, I wasn't nervous before the jump. It wasn't until that night, after the jump, when I had a nightmare about jumping out of a plane. The dream ended well too.

~ Andrew Laufer