Battle of the Captains

winners

When my family decided to go on a hiking-slash-zip lining trip when I was thirteen, I hadn't realized that I had a fear of heights. I was feeding off the excitement that my brothers had been radiating for weeks, not actually understanding the concept of zip lining, failing to realize that zip lining mean jumping off a cliff.

By the time we were at the top of the mountain, I didn't understand how my brothers, including seven-year-old Kyle, could be so dauntless, fighting over who got to go first or who would make it to the other side faster or without hands. They even made a case about zip lining upside down– to which my dad forbade them to do. They couldn't care less that they could fall to their deaths. I doubted the thought even crossed their extremist minds.

I played it off like the sweet, darling sister, giving them permission to bypass the 'ladies first rule'– not that the rule ever applied in our family.

Now, my brothers caught on pretty quick. "Don't be such a wimp," Kyle said before jumping off the cliff, gliding across canyons and forests to get to the other side.

I pretty much got the same treatment from the rest of my brothers until it was just my dad, the guide and I left.

"Dad, I don't want to go," I'd confessed. "I'm a wimp and I don't want to die."

"You're not going to die," he said. "You think I'd let you guys do something that could kill you?" He gestured to the other side of the line, where Kain had just landed on the platform, cheering as he did so. "They're fine. They look like they had fun. You'll enjoy it too."

I had shaken my head furiously. "I can't."

But not doing it would mean that my dad wouldn't do it either. Sitting out this experience meant making my dad sit it out with me. Someone had to accompany me walking down the hill. But my dad– as parents usually did­– put my wants over his.

Guilt overcame me, nearly pushing me off the cliff without the harness. I figured jumping off with some kind of promise of safety was better than tumbling down a volcano spurting guilt.

I took the harness from the guide's hands. "I can try, dad."

My dad's face brightened visible though he tried to conceal it. He helped me into the harness. My legs were wobbly, my heart was bursting, my head was on fire and I was going to die.

"Are you sure about this?" dad asked. No, I wasn't sure about this. But I would never hear the end of it from my brothers and I'd feel terrible for making my dad miss out on it for months. For months. At least if I died on this death contraption, it would be a quick death.

"I'm scared, dad," I said. "But I want to do it." I wanted to prove I wasn't a wimp; I wanted to do something good for my dad. I definitely wanted to jump off a cliff. No problem.

My dad sensed the lie in my statement and found the situation perfect for lecturing.

"You can't face your fears if you don't want to," he'd said. "Want to know how I got over my fear of heights?"

I strongly doubted that my dad had ever been afraid of heights. He was big and tall and he practically laughed at fear to its face. But I played along.

"How?"

"Ever imagined what flying would feel like?"

I'd dreamed of it, yes. The rush, wind blowing all over my body, screaming in excitement instead of horror, an out of body experience, I'd dreamed of it all– felt it even.

"Sometimes."

"Don't you want to know how it would feel like?"

"Not if it means that I die."