Parachute’s Descent A rapid snap of wrists attached to chubby, stout arms thrashed downward and rippled the colorful, circular sheet in front of us. The sheet wrestled with the hot, stagnant air and produced bursts of wind that bounced off the walls of my elementary school gym. Looking around, twenty-six six year old faces blurred together. The grinning faces morphed together to form a fleshy, monochrome background contrasting to what I was concentrated on.
The parachute.
Along with the vibrant colors, it struck me as odd. The circle was cut and seamed in a random array of pie sliced colors. There was no uniform order. It wasn’t anything like I’d seen or learned before. No pattern. No A, B, C or 1, 2, 3. No sense of order.
Even when the time came to run …show more content…
Petrified to be with people different from me. The sameness I’d grown accustomed to might’ve been dull, but it was a constant with no surprises. While scanning the room, a conversant object seized my attention. The other group members were flicking their wrists to smooth its wrinkles and folds from its storage bin. My hands slid over the cheap fabric and I was finally able to get a grip. My parachute unfolded before me and became my foreground.
That first Monday of my MDS group career was undoubtedly awkward and uncomfortable. There was no immediate connection or change in myself. There were no fireworks set off and I wasn’t completely altered. There are days when a kid will pull my hair or claw my hands so ruthlessly I have to bite back tears. But there’s always the parachute.
When rustled into the air and the kids respond with spurts of giggles, the parachute fabricated a realization in me. I never wanted to be trapped in its bubble again. Securities and comforts can act as ensnaring walls, but the outskirts’ unknown is what makes life lively and enthralling even if it is anomalous and awkward. Life has no outline or instructions. Bubbles always pop. Parachutes rise and
The parachute.
Along with the vibrant colors, it struck me as odd. The circle was cut and seamed in a random array of pie sliced colors. There was no uniform order. It wasn’t anything like I’d seen or learned before. No pattern. No A, B, C or 1, 2, 3. No sense of order.
Even when the time came to run …show more content…
Petrified to be with people different from me. The sameness I’d grown accustomed to might’ve been dull, but it was a constant with no surprises. While scanning the room, a conversant object seized my attention. The other group members were flicking their wrists to smooth its wrinkles and folds from its storage bin. My hands slid over the cheap fabric and I was finally able to get a grip. My parachute unfolded before me and became my foreground.
That first Monday of my MDS group career was undoubtedly awkward and uncomfortable. There was no immediate connection or change in myself. There were no fireworks set off and I wasn’t completely altered. There are days when a kid will pull my hair or claw my hands so ruthlessly I have to bite back tears. But there’s always the parachute.
When rustled into the air and the kids respond with spurts of giggles, the parachute fabricated a realization in me. I never wanted to be trapped in its bubble again. Securities and comforts can act as ensnaring walls, but the outskirts’ unknown is what makes life lively and enthralling even if it is anomalous and awkward. Life has no outline or instructions. Bubbles always pop. Parachutes rise and