“I have a question about your parachuting classes. When are they, how much do they cost and how olddo you have to be?”
“We have classes every other Saturday morning. They are ninety dollars and you have to be eighteen.”
“Okay, great. Um...
if someone is seventeen can a parent sign for them?”
“No, we used to do that, but the state changed the law. You have to be eighteen now.”
I was seventeen. I was going to parachute. This sure as hell wasn’t going to
stop me.I had a plan.And no way in hell was I going to tell anyone what it was. This was way too important to be messed up bysome loose-lipped idiot. No one would know, not even my friends. Not even the Yard Apes.
“Mom, all the guys and me want to
use some of our graduation money and parachute at the Clinton
Airport. Can I?”
“Well...you’re only seventeen. You can do it if I don’t have to sign for you.”“Yeah, I talked to them already. That’s not a problem.”
Well...I guess I can’t stop you then. It’s up to you.”“Cool. Thanks.”
I wasn’t eighteen, but Rich was nineteen.
I knew that Rich’s and my social security cards and birth certificates were kept in the gray metal safety box inthe closet of my parent’s bedroom.
I waited a few days and then took the first step in my plan.
“Hey Mom, I was thinking since I am getting ready to go to college next year I should start taking care of my social security card and my birth certificate.”
“Yes, you probably should. That’s very responsible of you Walt. I’ll go get’em.”
“No, no. That’s no problem. I know where they are. I’ll get them. Don’t worry.”
Over the next few months, one by one they dropped out.
“My mom won’t let me do it.”