Cold Granite Wall

     At a point in my childhood, I believed that Mom sent my brother and I to YMCA summer camp in hopes of killing one of us off.  This thought first occurred to me during a rock climbing event.  I guess, truth be told, I didn't have to participate, but, despite my paralyzing fear of heights, I did.  I stood at the bottom of the gray, cold, hard rock wall and slowly I looked up to size my opponent.  My palms began to sweat, my knees began to knock, and my heart crept into my throat.  I was no longer sure what I had gotten myself into.
     The camp counselor clamped the safety rope to my harness and I stepped into position.  I placed one sweaty palm on the damp rock, and then I placed the other above it.  I searched for foot holes with the toes of my tennis shoes.  I slowly began my ascent.  After what seemed like an hour of climbing, I decided to look down to gauge my progress.  To my grim displeasure, I was only about six feet off the ground.  At this point, I was determined to continue my journey to the top to defeat my fear of heights.  After each unsure, shaky step I eventually made it to the top of the mountain.
      I wish that I could say that after I got to the top that I basked in the glory of my accomplishment.  However, I took one quick glance, became nauseous, and high tailed it down the trail.  That day I didn't defeat my fear of heights, but I took a very important small step in the right direction.

Little Red Death Machine

I'm not quite sure how I came to this point.  Actually, that's a lie. I know exactly how I came to fear for my life.  It all seemed innocent enough to begin with.  The super AFJROTC teachers had arranged for us to take an airplane flight to give us the experience of being in the clouds.  We arrived at the Fletcher, NC airport and eagerly awaited for the plane and the pilot to show up.  Around the corner was a red, two seat, open cockpit aircraft.  Each student took their turn going up and circling the airfield and then landing.  It was my turn.  I hopped in, buckled up, and waited for take off.  During this time, someone asked the pilot how he acquired the plane; he answered that he had built it himself.  HE BUILT IT HIMSELF!  I was now strapped into what was certainly a death trap.  I could just imagine the bolts working themselves loose and me falling to the ground.  Before I could voice my opposition, we were in the air.  I quickly checked for any duct tape holding the plane together; none could be found.  My hands began to sweat, I could feel the blood draining from my body, and I was sure I was whiter than any ghost.  My anxiety was all for naught.  One circle around the field and I was back on the ground.  I jumped out of the plane and kissed the ground, and promptly spit out an insect.