Sarah Nigbor

My kids find it hard to believe that I wasn’t always “old.” They act like I grew up on Little House on the Prairie with a sunbonnet and covered wagon. I was born in the 1980s for crying out loud, not the 1880s. And yes, I sneaked into 1980 by a mere seven months, but I am still an 80s baby. I love to rub it into my husband that I wasn’t alive in the 1970s like him. All you need to do is look at my school pictures growing up to see that I’m an 80s kid. I reveled in the big, curled 80s hair, the giant plastic glasses and paint-splotched denim. I never got a pair of Jabot pants, but I did have an Esprit bag.

Being that my children think I’m ancient, they find it hard to believe that I once went skydiving. It was about 10 years ago and I did it for a story. Paulette Anderson of the Hammond Arts Alliance was trying to raise money to purchase a building, and when I interviewed her about her fundraiser (jumping out of a plane), she asked me to come along too. I thought about it for about three seconds before saying yes. I had always wanted to try it and what a perfect opportunity – raising money for a good cause and getting a “bird’s eye view” (literally) for a newspaper story. Win, win!

The day of the jump, my best friend Derek tried to talk me out of it. He was more nervous than I was.

“What are you trying to prove? What if something goes wrong? You know, you don’t have to do this.” His relentless discouraging questions fell on deaf ears. I’m nothing if not stubborn and I was bound and determined to go. When I’m afraid to do something (which I was but didn’t admit it), I prefer to hit it head on instead of running. Then I can look at myself in the mirror and know I tried my best.

My editor at the time was also at the jump site in Baldwin, already situated in his camp chair with snacks and a camera. If I went splat, he was going to catch it on camera. I prayed I wasn’t the front-page story on the New Richmond News.

As we got fitted for our tandem jump with a qualified instructor, my excitement grew. My adrenaline was pumping as we got into the tiny plane that took us into the sky over Baldwin. The engine was loud and the thing rattled like an old tin can. Paulette jumped first and away she went, swirling into the abyss. As I watched her parachute burst open, my instructor said it was my turn.

We positioned ourselves at the plane’s door with our feet dangling. Before I could even take a breath, the instructor pushed us off and out the door we went. We free fell for what seemed an eternity before the parachute burst forth, carrying us back up into the sky. As we swirled lazily down, we could see the patchwork of farm fields and forest, as beautiful as a newly sewn quilt. We turned this way and that so I could see Spring Valley in the distance, Baldwin just below me and miles and miles of fields. Cars on the highway looked like tiny ants. The interstate was a concrete ribbon cutting through the countryside. I loved every second of it.

As we prepared to land, I braced myself. The instructor said most people land on their butt but we were going to land on our feet and we did. I was so proud. I had conquered something I was afraid to do but wanted to do. Derek was just glad I was alive and scolding me like a mad wet hen to never do something like that again. My editor was freaking out over the good pictures he shot and happy his employee was safe and sound. It was a good day.