It was Christmas Eve 2008, and I was plummeting toward the Earth with a pony-tailed man strapped to my back. Wait, that’s not how you celebrate Christmas Eve?
When Mike first indicated that he and his brother were planning to go skydiving over the holidays, I rolled my eyes and told him resignedly to let me know when he made it to the ground. Mike’s whole family – mom and three siblings – was visiting us in Hawaii for the holidays. We’d all decided that a Christmas spent basking in the perfect Hawaiian sunlight was much preferable to shivering in Midwestern snow, and then Mike and his brother had decided that there was no better way to celebrate the birth of Christ than by jumping out of a perfectly good airplane.
And that’s when a snowball started rolling, right there under my perfect Hawaiian sun. Continue reading