…and my Daddy neither rocks nor rolls.  You could say that my parents are boring, but that would be an insult to boring people everywhere.  My father, in his retirement, won’t even leave the house unless it’s for a rip-snorting good reason…and if he leaves, he’ll bitch until he’s back in the comfort of his workshop chair with a glass of homemade wine in hand.  The family gatherings that take place outside our hometown are always peppered with comments like “everything I need is back home” and “no time for sightseeing…we need to be getting on the road.”  It’s almost as if Jesus has informed my father that the second coming will take place somewhere in our garage, and he’d BETTER DAMN WELL BE THERE, OR ELSE.

My mother, on the other hand, is a worrier.  Everything is dangerous, everything will kill you.  You shouldn’t do ANYthing that might put your life in danger, no matter how infinitesimal the risk.  Life, according to her, should come with its own bubble wrap.

This Thanksgiving, my sister, brother, and I somehow lured my parents away from their quiet rural haven and brought them to the bustling metropolis of Knoxville, TN.  I was anticipating all the same conversations that I’ve come to expect from the two of them, and I wasn’t really disappointed.  We talked about what was going on at home, what was going on at their church…all the usual stuff.  I was giggling on the inside, because I knew I was about to bring up something that would make each of my parents have a minor stroke.  See, I have plans to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro in 2010.  It’s no routine hike, but it’s completely achievable for anyone who’s in good shape and has the desire to do it.  Definitely one of those “bucket list” activities.

While sitting at Thanksgiving dinner, I asked my brother (who knew of my plans) if I should tell Mom and Dad what I was thinking of doing next year.  He set it up as perfectly as possible.

“Mom, Michael’s gonna do something DANGEROUS next year.  Wanna guess what it is?”

She looked at me quizzically for clarification…and I said that yes, I had plans to do something which I thought was really cool but might be considered dangerous by some.  Mom’s face went white as a sheet as she considered what diabolical plans I might have.  With a completely serious look on her face, she reached for my hand and said…

“Oh, no…you’re not going…BUNGEE JUMPING, are you??”She didn’t even crack a smile as my siblings and I exploded with laughter.  She’s always had this irrational fear that one of us might commit the unforgivable sin of tethered jumping from great heights.  When I told her that no, I wouldn’t be bungee jumping…and that I would have to travel a good distance for my “dangerous” activity, she ventured another guess…

“SNORKELING!!!  You’re going snorkeling, aren’t you?”Technically, she meant “scuba diving,” but to her, there’s not much difference.  The ocean is one frightening mother effer in her mind.  I almost didn’t even have the heart to tell her what I was actually planning after hearing the two scariest things SHE could think of.  By now she was laughing a little, mainly because we were about to piss ourselves…but you could tell that she really wasn’t amused.

“No…actually, I’m gonna climb Mt. Kilimanjaro.”

My Mom fell silent.  My Dad didn’t even pause.

“Why?  It’s in a third-world country.  People are POOR there.  They eat dirt.  There’s absolutely nothing to see.  I know.  I’ve traveled around the world.  I had to stay a night in Hawaii one time in the service and THAT place was just AWFUL.”Yep, those are my parents.  My mom is scared shitless of carnival attractions and warm tropical seas, and my Dad thinks Hawaii is the equivalent of a third-world country.  They see ZERO value in doing something you’ve never done before.  Of seeing the sun rise over Africa at 20,000 feet.  Of basically doing anything which THEY consider to be out of the mainstream (and their mainstream is a trickle that’s WAAAAAY right of center).
 
So despite the fact that my Dad thinks that I should spend my mountain-climbing money on psychiatric help, I’m climbing Kilimanjaro anyway.  If I can figure out how to bungee-jump and snorkel while I’m there, I just might go for the Trifecta of Terror.  So what if it’s in a third-world country, and so what if they eat nothing but dirt and monkey dung?  At least it’s not Hawaii.