As most older skydivers are aware, the Midwest was the wild, wild Midwest in the early 1980s.

We spent nearly every weekend of my childhood at Skydive Pepperell. Paula, Devin, my father and I have grown as people and as skydivers together. Needless to say, we are family!

I had worn an open-face helmet with goggles for many years, but after starting to wear glasses, I decided to get a full-face helmet that could accommodate them. I used this helmet on skydives and in the tunnel for more than a year before I had any problems.

I was a late starter when it came to skydiving. I began at age 37 in 1969 when several of my firefighter buddies and I were watching our 10-inch black-and-white TV in the station and saw a program about skydiving at Skylark Airport in Lake Elsinore, California. “What the heck,” we said.

In February, I survived a low-altitude canopy collision with another parachutist while skydiving at a busy drop zone in Southern California. We wrapped and came spinning down to crash land on an RV supply parts warehouse. I punched a hole through the roof and was knocked unconscious, yet miraculously, the worst injury I suffered was a badly broken wrist. The other jumper hit a second or two after me and broke two ribs.