My role as a risk-averse mom places me in a tough position when our family is forging adventure.
On the one hand, I want to expose my children to opportunities to explore life and new experiences. I want them to embrace challenges and overcome fear. On the other hand, I want to envelop them in bubble wrap.
We dashed to Beavers Bend State Park in southeastern Oklahoma last weekend for one last hurrah before Cooper starts college and Katie starts high school. We're no strangers to the Mountain Fork River, all of us veterans of kayaking and tubing on that scenic water. But we've never ventured onto Broken Bow Lake.
On this visit, I embraced the challenge. We rented a small pontoon boat for four hours. Cooper and his friend took charge of steering, and we puttered across the water to reach Cooper's dream destination — 20-foot cliffs ideal for leaping if you're so inclined.
I stayed back while the kids swam ashore and starting scaling the rocks. Waves and wind pushed me toward the cliffs, and I, for the first time ever, at the age of 47, commandeered a boat.
I took photos of the jumping teens from a safe distance, holding my breath every single time. I offered encouragement to Katie and her friend, who really wanted to jump but were also slightly terrified. "Jump if you want! But you don't have to!" There's a fine line between supportive and pushy.
After watching these courageous kids leap into the water, and after feeling renewed confidence from my just-discovered boat-driving skills, I decided to fight my fears and try to jump myself.
Cooper swam to the boat and regained control of the steering wheel. I set my glasses aside. I swam to shore. I climbed rocks on shaky legs, with Katie offering encouragement.
I found a jumping-off spot and inched out. I waited for my breath to settle and legs to steady. I waved to the tiny people below. I took Katie's advice and looked out, not down. (Without those glasses, the hills and trees were amorphous blobs.) I briefly regretted not leaving my watch on the boat, considered taking it off and then declined, not wanting to abandon it on the cliff.
I listened to my teenagers cheer me on, took deep breaths and contemplated walking back down to safety.
Eventually, I counted — 3, 2, 1 — then pushed myself off the ledge and let gravity take control.
I hit the water shoes-first, became fully submerged then popped back up. Before I could celebrate this unexpected bravery, though, I realized that my watch was missing.
The watch was a gift last school year from many of my students. It's the kind of item I would never ask for or buy for myself — and certainly not something I would want to lose.
I should have left it on the boat.
While I had been waffling up there on the cliff, Cooper and his friend were chatting with a couple of guys in an idling boat. They live not far from the lake, and on days off from work they often dive for treasure at the cliffs. They had just put on their SCUBA gear when the watch fell off my arm.
These gentlemen dove in and explored the depths of the lake. About 30 feet under, they discovered a couple pair of sunglasses and my treasured watch. I swam back to the rocks and thanked them for their good timing and skill.
My cliff-jumping career ended as quickly as it began. One hop was all I needed, delivering more excitement than I bargained for — including a serendipitous reminder of the kindness of strangers. I won't stop seeking adventure, though, and I'll keep cheering for my courageous children. Life is more interesting when you take leaps of faith.
Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.
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| Cooper leaps from a cliff at Broken Bow Lake. |
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