Fear of heights. I don’t have a bad-crippling type fear of heights, just a mild sort of I’d-rather-not-fall-to-my-death fear of heights. I trace some of this back to Elementary School. There I was shimmying up the rope in gym class. I made it to the top or near the top and for some unknown reason, I let go and tumbled down to the mat. I don’t think I landed on my head, but that would explain a lot. All I really remember is Mr. Good Smile, my gym teacher, carrying me off the mat to safety somewhere. [Editor’s Note: his name probably was not Good Smile, but it was Mr. Good Day or Mr. Good All or Mr. Good Hair or something of that sort.] Perhaps, it was just a sprained ankle, but I still blame this incident for my desire to avoid falling and to avoid ropes hanging from the ceiling in gym class. I was not a monkey. I should not climb.

Flash forward many decades. There I was on the Church Property Committee. This was a generous assessment, because I did little to nothing on that Committee, but I did once help out in changing very high up lightbulbs in the sanctuary. I tell you, these lightbulbs were very, very high up and the church only had a rickety old ladder to get way up there. There were also many, many lightbulbs way up there. Well, we were all taking turns climbing up the ladder. I bravely took my turn and my oh my, my nerves did not enjoy it one bit. I was shaking and sweating like crazy, but I bravely took my turn and climbed back down upon completion to find out that I had sweat through the back of my shorts. Yep, buckets of sweat rolling down my back onto my shorts. It did not look good. It was not a confidence builder.

Flash forward a few years and we reach today. Earlier today at work, there was a rock climbing wall in the parking lot, as a fundraiser. People were gleefully taking their turns. Up 30 feet (pure guess at the actual height) and down again. It looked sort of easy. Lots of people were taking turns. My sons came to see it. We purchased hamburgers to help the cause. That seemed like an appropriate way to help. More people went up and down. More smiles. More people happy. It was contagious. I still resisted and even took to blaming my shoes (I was wearing loafers, which are not internationally accepted rock climbing shoes). Excuses. More people smiling. The event was winding down. People were returning to work.

Then I got just a little brave. I asked my sons if they would like to join me. They showed no interest in potentially falling and instead enjoyed their hamburgers. I persisted. After a half dozen requests, my 8-year-old son Sam offered to accompany me up the wall. This is the same son that once spontaneously joined me to stand at the edge of the all church choir and sing “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” We are not singers, but we helped nail it. Sam is a joiner, he helps build me up.

So there we were, father and son scaling a wall. Dad full of nerves, son of many, many, many years younger (probably about the age that I fell off the gym class rope) bravely tackling the wall. Well, we made it up to the top. I did not particularly enjoy being up there, so I gradually made my way down. With each foot closer to the ground, I grew happier to be on my way toward the ground. Then I had the bright idea to rappel down the wall in one of those jump, swing out, jump off the wall again fashion. Only problem, I have never done this before (obviously) and I am not a super-agent (duh, obviously not). The first jump went fine, but the second was way too close to the ground and “bump.” Flat on my butt. Turns out I now land on my butt, rather than the suspected landing on my head (or ankle, I forget which) in elementary school. Thankful for the harness that fit me like a super snug extra tight pair of underwear, I laid down on the parking lot and starred into the clear blue sky. With the help of my son and some surprisingly effective loafers, I had conquered a mild fear with almost complete success. Although the plop on the butt reminded me to never get cocky when tackling even the most mild of phobias. Just not a good idea to get cocky at the end, although it was a great idea to wait for most of the crowd to clear out just in case I landed on my butt. That was a good move.