There's my Dakota Wolf, 4th from front, on the 3 hour hike up the mountainThe first thing you need to know right now is that I let Dakota jump off The Bridge to Nowhere. I wasn't there. His dad wasn't there. He JUMPED OFF A BRIDGE WITH MY PERMISSION.
Watch him jump. That's my flesh and blood, there.
Not only that, but he jumped off a bridge that any writer would have recognized as instant trouble due to horribly metaphoric name, which although really just refers to the fact that no traffic visits the bridge, really skeeves me out.
Why? Because he's 15. Because life is meant to be experienced. Because the company who pushed my son off a bridge also pushes stars off bridges, and they're OK. Because they've never had a single accident. Because probably letting him drive a hunk of steel down the streets of this town is more dangerous than flying off a bridge with ten metal hooks attached to a harness around his precious body. Because I am the damn coolest mom you will ever meet. I have serious neurotic tendencies and a special place in my mind reserved for crazy, and I won't put my fear into my kids. Maybe because I say NO a LOT. More than his friends parents, he says, and I'm pretty sure that's true, from what I see. Maybe my priorities are fucked up, if I see bungee jumping less dangerous than 'safe drinking' (don't get me started) or staying out till all hours unsupervised at 15.
His good friend Dillon invited him to go, all expenses paid. I talked to the Dad. I visited the website. I bit my nails. I lost sleep. I said yes. And he went, and he jumped, and he flew.
