The trees were proudly parading their vivid colors that warm and inviting autumn day in October of 2003 as I headed out to Orange, Massachusetts, to jump out of a perfectly good airplane. Upon my arrival to the jump school, an employee with a detached personality and a large Mohawk haircut handed me a phonebook-size bundle of paperwork so I could begin the long process of signing my life away; so I wouldn’t hold the jump school responsible if I ended up a human pancake.
If that wasn’t enough, the whole family decided to show up to see if I would really follow through with this incredibly crazy stunt, which meant there was no way I could chicken out. You know, we men have our pride.