“Come on. It’s only thirty-five feet high. After all, you’ve been to the top of the Empire State Building and you’ve looked over the fruited plains from the top of Pike’s Peak. You’ve walked on the bridge spanning Royal Gorge and have experienced the thrill of climbing out on the rocks which rest on the upper edge of the Grand Canyon walls.” But no matter what thoughts I used to try to bolster my courage, there was something unnerving about the thought of rappelling down the side of that farm silo. It was on a different level, altogether.
Several years ago my boys and I were participating in a father/son campout and were enjoying a variety of outdoor activities. My sons were eager to try the activity of rappelling. I suggested that we do some other activity, but soon found myself standing in the rappelling line with them. (I had no desire to reveal my apprehension. After all, I did not want to lose respect in the eyes of my boys.)
“They will probably get cold feet,” I reasoned. I watched the line of young boys and their fathers in front of me get smaller and...


