Acrophobia!

I went down this water slide.

What on earth possesses parents to do crazy things like this? I’m terribly afraid of heights. When I was just out of college, a group of friends convinced me to climb the rigging on a yacht we had taken out to Gloucester Harbor. Three-quarters of the way up, I froze. My hands curled around the ropes and sweat ran down my face. I couldn’t move. I looked down at the ship far beneath me and saw myself falling through the air and crumpling on the planks below. Some time passed before I gained enough courage to back down slowly.

But yesterday my 10-year-old cajoled me into sliding off of a 120-foot thrill ride. Despite my light-headedness and an inner voice that tried to remind me that heights scare the dickens out of me, I agreed. As we stood for 30 interminable minutes waiting to leap to our deaths, I tried to look brave and nonchalant.

A massive Marine standing in line next to me confided, “I’m a wimp!” He tried not to scream as he went over the edge, but a squeal came out anyway. Everyone laughed—the group of gloating Russians, the German body-builders, and me. Not because we pitied him, but because we were all nervous.

I fell for 12 stories before coasting to a stop at the bottom. I did it exactly the way my son told me to: “Count to ten, Mom, and it will all be over.” When I got to eight, I sat up and looked into his smiling face and thought, I really would do anything for this kid!  Isn't that the way love is? Crazy.