Current Shareware 1994 January/SHAR194.ISO/articles/s_m1093.zip/JUMP

Text File | 1993-10-08 | 8KB | 130 lines

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 Mirrors░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░The Jump░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░by William Luby
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   Growing up is largely a process of defining the parameters of
   rebellion against one's parents.  During my youth, the focus of
   those parental values was religion.  My mother was in charge of
   religious education at our church, so it is not surprising that in
   our house, religion became the last battleground on which the
   parent-child war was fought.

   Perhaps I would not have been so determined to fight all the
   religious brainwashing that I was subjected to if my parents hadn't
   been so reasonable in the other areas of my life.  They were
   open-minded and they firmly believed that I should be given an
   opportunity to taste freedom and make my own mistakes.  When it came
   to religion, however, they would not entertain any divergent views.
   I knew I was being wronged too, but no matter what I did, I could
   not get them to allow me to choose my own religious beliefs.  I even
   had a speech memorized that I periodically trotted out which
   questioned why they allowed me to choose what I believed in the
   secular world, while insisting that in the area of religion, I had
   no choice but to adopt my mother's religious beliefs.  I never got a
   response to this question, other than something along the lines of
   "Don't get fresh with me," which was always an indication that my
   mother could not defeat my reasoning with logic and had to resort to
   the omnipotent parent tactic.

   In time, I graduated from high school and went 3000 miles away to
   college, where I rebelled by growing my hair long and studying the
   philosophers who could arm me with arguments against God and
   religion.  On Sunday mornings I enjoyed the luxury of sleeping in
   and not going to church.  Unfortunately, I had just enough residual
   guilt and uncertainty in my convictions that I began to wonder what
   the stakes were if my mother's beliefs were right and mine were
   misguided.

   Several months passed and my uneasiness remained.  Then one Saturday
   a group of friends decided to go sky diving and asked me to join
   them.  I was nineteen and eager to take in all the experiences that
   life had to offer, so I signed on.  For eight hours we were tutored
   in parachute safety and learned how to jump off a ledge and roll in
   a manner that would minimize the risk of injury during a landing.
   At the end of the day we were all supposed to jump out of an
   airplane and undergo some mysterious transformation.  Unfortunately,
   the class was oversized and our practice sessions ended too close to
   sundown to make it safe for us to jump, so we were offered the
   opportunity to come back to jump the following morning.

   I accepted without thinking twice, but spent all night going over
   every possible misfortune that I could anticipate.  It was easy for
   me to get worked up into a cold sweat, because I had a mild case of
   acrophobia and wasn't sure if I could muster up enough courage to
   jump when my turn came.  It didn't help matters any when I
   remembered that the next day was Easter Sunday.  Here I was, scared
   of heights and clinging gingerly to my newfound atheism, preparing
   to jump out of an airplane on the holiest day of the year.  "Let's
   assume, for the sake of argument only, that there is a God..." I
   thought.  "What would he think about my defiance?"

   The morning finally came and everyone else tried to look
   unconcerned, so I did the same.  We climbed into a plane that had
   half of the right side removed, leaving a large opening to jump out
   of.  As the last one to get in, I had the distinction of sitting
   next to the missing side.  As soon as the plane took off and started
   making lazy circles up into the sky I was gripped with fear.  With
   each banked turn, the hole in the side of the plane slid directly
   below me; I braved a glance downward and realized how fragile life
   can be.

   I remembered the dive instructor saying that he would not allow
   anyone to jump who he believed was not in the proper frame of mind.
   Impulsively, I wished I could be one of those people.  Looking
   around the plane, no one else showed any outward signs of concern,
   so I did the best I could to conceal my terror.

   When we reached 3200 feet, the plane leveled off and we received our
   last pep talk.  Each time the plane circled back to the designated
   jump area, one of us jumped.  I was scheduled to go last.  To my
   amazement, all the others jumped out willingly, with whoops of joy
   followed by an eerie silence as they fell out of earshot.  I could
   not imagine what was going through their heads; it all seemed so
   unreal.  One more loop and then it was my turn.  Without warning, I
   became paralyzed, my heart raced and my breathing shortened up.  I
   began to wish for a catastrophe that would prevent me from jumping,
   but misfortune did not heed my call.

   I moved into position and looked at the instructor for a final
   confirmation.  It had to be obvious that I wanted him to stop me.  I
   thought about God.  Surely God would use this opportunity to punish
   my insolence.  I could repent, I thought, like a sinner on his death
   bed, but wouldn't God be smart enough to see through that ruse?
   Wouldn't he think more of me for sticking to my convictions, even if
   they were wrong?  What about all those great men of science who
   didn't believe in God?  Hadn't God shown them mercy and taken into
   consideration the rigorous rational discipline that was required in
   their study?  What if there is no God?

   "Now," the instructor barked.

   I hesitated.  "NOW!" he screamed at me.  I jumped.

   Once outside the plane there was little for me to do.  The rip cord
   was connected to the plane, so I had no control over whether the
   chute would open properly.  I extended my arms and legs in the ready
   position and went into my four count safety check.  When I hit the
   count of five, the chute was supposed to open and yank me into an
   upright position.  Nothing.  I went through the safety check again.
   Nothing.  And again.  Still nothing.  I took a deep breath, closed
   my eyes and counted to ten.  When I finished, I opened my eyes and
   spewed forth a vicious stream of profanity, directed both at God and
   my mother, and challenged God to teach me a lesson and make an
   example of me by preventing my parachute from opening.

   When I ran out of profanity, I looked down at the open field and a
   certain calmness came over me, even though I was accelerating toward
   the ground.  Suddenly, there was a soft whoosh and the open
   parachute jerked me into position.  I drifted noiselessly, feeling
   as if I was not bound by space and time.  Ahead of me I saw the
   skyline of San Francisco and the deep blue water running under the
   Golden Gate Bridge and out into the Pacific Ocean.  I looked over my
   shoulder and marveled at the snow-capped Sierra Nevada mountains
   behind me, backlit by the rising sun.  In the foreground was the
   Sacramento River, flowing down from the mountains, through the
   fertile San Joaquin Valley, and winding its way slowly toward the
   Bay.  What a wonderful morning to be free, I thought.

                                    -end-
                         Copyright (c) 1993 William Luby