Halfway Up the Purple Wall

I'm afraid of heights. I've always been afraid of heights. So when my teenage son asked me to go to the new indoor rock climbing gym with him in February, I agreed, mainly because he never asks me to do anything anymore.

He climbed like a spider. I put on a harness and tiny tight shoes and stared up at a forty-foot wall covered in colorful plastic holds. He clipped me into the rope. "I've got you, Mom," he said.

I made it about ten feet before I froze. My legs were shaking. My son, holding the rope below, said calmly, "Look at your feet. Find the purple one." I found the purple one. Then another one. Then another.

I made it halfway up the wall. I looked down. My son was beaming. Then he slowly lowered me back down, and I hugged him in front of all his friends. He let me.

We go every Saturday now. I've made it to the top twice.