When I was eight years old I jumped off the second story patio of my grandmother's house because I believed I could fly. I know. How could I have really thought I could fly?
From when I was six until I was eleven I often spent my entire summers at my grandmothers house. This summer was no different. On this particular day there was nothing to do. There was nothing on television and no one around to play with. My grandmother was busy cooking lunch. It was then that my uncle and my cousin Alberto, came to visit. I was excited to have someone to play with. After my cousin had said hello to my grandmother we quickly ran upstairs to the second story patio. This general 'area' was were we often played power rangers, ninja turtles, etc. This is the spot I would later jump from.
I had been brought up thinking that I could do anything or achieve anything if I REALLY believed in it. This, combined with the dream (one we have all had, I am sure) of flying, led me to eventually try to fly. I don't recall whether I had premeditated to do so or simply came up with the idea on the spot, but I informed my cousin that I was going to fly. My plan was simple. I was going to jump off and then ... Well, float off? Slowly descend without injuring myself? Take off like Superman? Well I didn't have all the details planned out, but the base of the plan was to fly. So I jumped off and as I was in midair I really thought I was doing it. I really thought I was flying. For the 2 or 3 seconds it took me to "land" I really thought I was flying. Picture me jumping off and as I fall a smile widens across my face as I believed I was flying. Before jumping off I convinced myself of what I had been told about believing and that to fly all I had to do was believe I could do it, and I promise you, I was not one bit afraid; I really did believe...
But believing was not enough. What I had been taught wasn't true. I couldn't do it... I didn't fly, instead I broke my leg.
I was so ashamed about having been so naive that I told everyone my cousin had dared me to jump off and so I had done it. I didn't care if they thought I was stupid for jumping off on a dare... I just didn't want them to know that I had been even stupider in believing I could fly. He was fine with that. He turned out looking like the intelligent one; the one making the dare and not the one jumping off and breaking his leg.
I've been thinking back on this experience a lot lately. I've decided that this was the exact point when I began to question anything and everything I am told. I'm skeptical because when I was eight years old I though that if I truly believed I could fly I would be able to do so.... Then I tried it and it didn't happen. I also think that deep down, subconsciously, I hold a grudge against my mother for this because she was the main person instigating in my mind that I could do anything as long as I believed in it. I don't regret it though. I learned that hope isn't enough and to make dreams come true it also takes patience, hard work and diligence. I also believe that this further developed skepticism is what eventually led me to abandon my Catholic faith and become agnostic.
June 28 2006
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*** Copied over from my old blog reneruizj.blogspot.com
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