To prove I don’t despise your parents, I decided to let your mother
pack my parachute. She did well. It was I who screwed up, breaking
both ankles on landing. The fractures had nothing to do with
your mother. It was the jungle gym I couldn’t avoid on account
of the wind. The children were marvelous, jumping into the heap
of collapsed silk, telling me to lie still. Some parent took
a picture and called the cops. The cops called the firefighters,
then the ambulance, then the EMTs called you, and you called
your mother, telling her it was not her fault. She did blame me,
and if memory serves, so did your father.
Photo by Nels Olsen, used and adapted under CC.
