Cover Story

Photo:  Details Magazine 2012

It seems rare these days to go to a movie and walk away inspired.  Inspired to create. to revolutionize. to discover.

One benefit of being in the TV/film union SAG-AFTRA is receiving invitations to screenings for the top award contenders during Oscar season.  The director and cast often attend so this week a friend and I went to hear Ben Affleck and the cast talk about making Argo. 

Argo is based on true events from the 1970's Iranian hostage crisis. Affleck directs and plays the lead role, a CIA agent trying to get six Americans out of Iran by creating a cover story that they're Canadian filmmakers scouting exotic locales for a sci-fi flick.

I thought the movie would be graphic and disturbing with torture and execution scenes but it wasn't.  In fact, what emerges is a story that inspires.



"Argo" screening

Maybe it has to do with excellence. Even though the sci-fi film they're making within the real film is phony, the creative minds behind it still set superior standards.  

"If I'm making a fake movie," says the fake producer (Alan Arkin), "it's going to be a fake hit."

Or maybe it's because it reminds us that in a flash any one of our lives can move the world.  

They weren't making a movie. They were making history.  

p.s. No one connected to the film paid me to write this post. Unfortunately.

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Hope, Meet Miracle.

Soon the river that runs behind my brother's house in the Midwest will be frozen solid.  Visiting for the holidays, I found myself wishing the calendar said spring already.  

Instead...barrenness. 

Still, it was almost as if the bright winter light held a message.  Wait.  Something new is coming...at the right time. 

When you've waited a long time - years, decades - for a dream to be fulfilled, that place in your heart eventually starts to feel desolate.  

Maybe, like me, you've waited for a spouse.  Barren.  

Or a breakthrough.  Barren.  

Or a child.  Barren. 

And yet...hope holds on.

I'm not one of those "name it and claim it" Christians.  Faith is no guarantee every desire will be fulfilled.  But there are some that carry a promise; those ones will come to pass.  At the right time.

But how do you know beyond a shadow of a doubt whether a dream is a mere yearning or a sealed promise from God?

At the river bank, I see a glimpse past the barrenness - to spring; forests teeming with new life.  And somehow I know, again, that I'm standing on a promise.  There is a peace that comes when you trust a matter is settled in heaven.  

And you know an introduction is about to be made.  Hope, meet miracle.

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Mean Girls

Lindsay Lohan star of "Mean Girls."  Photo:  Humza 

A talent agent told me I come off too sweet. "Too 'pink,' not enough flavor," she said. "We need to see the naughty in you."

I can hear my childhood friends roaring with laughter.  I was a mean girl long before Lindsay Lohan.  

The trouble started in 1st grade with a new kid at school.  He  didn't fit in wearing Sunday clothes to school.  He cut in line at recess. I punched him.  He socked me in the eye.

By 4th grade I'd moved on to bullying - teachers. "Hey, guppy lips!"  I taunted one who had a mouth like Mick Jagger.  

Another time Mrs. L. broke down in tears as I led a class revolt against 'the witch.' 

By high school I was hanging out with a crew of misfits who cut class and drank Mickey's in the park. 

Despite the trouble, A's came easy.  "You're going to college," my dad insisted, shipping me off to the Ivy League with the warning, "I don't do bail once you're 18."   

Later as a crime reporter, I confronted killers, gang members, sleazy politicians, with the steeliness of a true mean girl. 

Yet God - radical love - had somehow begun to pierce a hardened heart. 

Too sweet? A friend put it best: "When you're looking for a brand of 'edgy' that is filled with desperation, despondency, depression and dejection and encounter a different brand of edgy filled with love, joy and peace it's difficult to deal with." 

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Failure. Grace.

Funny how the closer you get to a dream, the more impossible it can seem. The nearer the time of fulfillment, the greater the battle.

After working with a TV coach for two months, I'm ready to shoot my new reel (video to send casting directors). In Hollywood, the reel can unlock destiny.

To think this reel will open doors is nuts really.  I'm just one of thousands among many who are more talented/prettier/younger/sexier chasing the dream.   

I recently failed so badly, I almost quit.  The battle raged not with shouts, but whispers:  not good enough.  not worthy...

Back in journalism school, a professor advised us to write down our names before live broadcasts.  "The pressure," he warned, "can make you forget even that."  

Seemed like absurd advice.

And then it happened. I froze on camera.  Gratefully, only a studio audience witnessed it instead of countless TV viewers.

"What happened?" asked my coach.  "I didn't expect you to freeze."  

Neither did I.  Unscripted TV's always been my strength.  I'm used to adlibbing, no teleprompter, thanks to years of covering breaking news. 

I lay awake tormented by fear and a perfectionism that can neither forget nor forgive such a fundamental blunder.  And then...a new whisper:

Sometimes failure is the gateway to My grace.

But what if it happens again?  On live TV?  What if the failure is so great, people won't forget it? 

My grace is sufficient.

This grace - there is only way one to know it.  It requires moving forward when every impulse screams quit.  And soon you discover grace is fighting the battle for you.

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All That Glitters...

All that glitters...that saying about fake worth is so true in Hollywood, where breasts, lips, buttocks are traded like used cars.  Even though I'm used to being around women with enough fillers and implants to make a mannequin jealous, I find myself battling the image pressure.

That's why Alissa and I went for every beauty trick in the book (excluding plastic surgery) for the Emmys: brow jobs, false lashes, hair extensions, exfoliators, bright red mani/pedis, fake tan, Spanx, more makeup than the Kardashians.

And in the end we were left feeling...not very beautiful.  We lost ourselves.  

"I felt so overdone with crazy eyelashes out to here and these big red lips," said Alissa. "It was too much. I felt like a tranny."

The makeup counter promises and dressing room skinny mirrors were like fool's gold.  Yet the over-the-top glam  left us feeling fake and awkward, especially me since I let others convince me to buy a girly dress instead of a simple one so I was squirming like a six-year-old in a church pew.

Our experience proved that nothing is as alluring as a woman at ease in her own skin.

"We tortured ourselves," said Alissa, "wanting to be who we're not." 

After the show we came home, washed our faces and went out - sans the glitter. 

"Your drinks are on me," said the first man who saw us, "because you are the most beautiful women here." 

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Emmys: Red Carpet Ready - Part 3

Ryan Seacrest interviewing "The Good Wife" Julianna Margulies

We sizzled at the Emmys!  The show literally heated up Sunday night — with the temperature climbing to 100 degrees by the time we hit the red carpet.  

The arrivals usually offer the best view to see TV's leading stars on their biggest night and even the heat was no competition for the steamy fashions.  

Our day started with a quick run to the mall for last minute accessories before meeting HMU (hair and makeup) artists at my apartment. And that's when I discovered the air conditioning had gone out!  With no maintenance around to fix it on a Sunday, we turned one little fan on blast and did our best to match the glitz of nominees like Zooey Deschanel, Tina Fey, Sofia Vergara, Claire Danes and Nicole Kidman. 

Ryan Seacrest was interviewing The Good Wife's Julianna Margulies on the "E" Entertainment podium when we arrived. We took our time heading into Nokia Theater, where late-night talk show comedian Jimmel Kimmel was set to host the three-hour salute to TV's best. 

The show came off very safe, nothing outrageous or offensive. Even the biggest prank—Saturday Night Live comedian Tracy Morgan appearing to pass out on stage—somehow fell flat.

The big surprise award went to Outstanding Drama Series, with Showtime's Homeland, beating out perennial winner and darling, Mad Men. The Outstanding Comedy series award was no surprise, going to ABC's Modern Family for the third year in a row.

Mad Men set a new record after being shutout in every award category despite 17 noms, a record previously held by Northern Exposure.  Mad Men had won awards the past four years but perhaps much like the Emmy's three-hour running time, it may have outrun it's charm. 

Honestly, the show itself feels even longer live than it does sitting at home in the comfort of your living room. The live audience invariably ends up missing segments during commercial breaks with too little time time to head to the lobby, wait in line for beverages and get back to your seat before it's time for the next segment.
 That's a wrap. Enjoy our view from the red carpet!

red carpet arrival

I'm not sure all the craziness of awards shows are worth the massive amount of time and expense they entail but even so, it's a Hollywood rite of passage so we'll be back.  

Michael J Fox to the left of his wife in the green dress

yours truly rockin the red carpet

Michael J Fox received a standing ovation during his awards presentation

Zachary Quinto from Heroes and Star Trek

Nominee Julianna Margulies (one of my favs) at the E! press line

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Red Carpet Ready - Part 2

Good news:  received our Emmy tickets.  Bad news:  still haven't found a gown.  Seems like I've tried on every dress in LA - driving miles in 100 degree heat just to be zipped and cinched like a Hefty sack.

Raised in the Baptist South, fashion and makeup were not priorities. The few style lessons we were taught included: 

1. Avoid red lipstick; people will think you're a whore
2. ALWAYS make sure your skirt hem covers the knee
3. Exposed cleavage? that is the unpardonable sin (raising a tomboy who wouldn't be caught dead showing cleavage probably saved my parents a heart attack) 

While I outgrew overalls and learned to 'paint my face,' I'm not sure the Baptists were totally off base in thinking that caked on makeup was an attempt to mask poor self-esteem or that splurging on exorbitant fads was wasted opportunity to help the needy.

But after working in Hollywood, I've come to find a balance between the Baptists and the beauty-makers.  Seeing a makeup artist transform a face or a fashion designer create a garment out of shapeless fabric is as inspiring as when any artist turns the ordinary into the divine.

Emmy host Jimmy Kimmel and execs roll out the red carpet for Sunday's show

Fortunately we have stylists for the Emmys. I might even go strapless. Or wear red lipstick. Yes, my Baptist friends may feel the need to host an intervention.
--
Check out photos of my road to the red carpet here.

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Red Carpet Ready

Kerry Washington at the 2011 Emmy Awards Photo:  International Business Times

Starting a series on the road to the red carpet!  I'll be live at the Emmy Awards on Sunday, Sept. 23, 2012 www.emmys.com

Designer gowns, tuxes, celebrities...Hollywood produces more red carpet events than anywhere in the world.  Next up: the Emmys!  Thankfully I've become more fashion savvy since moving to LA.

Hired by Backstage magazine to cover a film premiere at Grauman's Chinese Theater, the assignment didn't include a stylist. Thus, I committed the cardinal sin: wearing flats on the red carpet.

"How could you?" a friend actually said to me.  Well, as an investigative reporter I'd spent more time behind crime tape than velvet ropes.  Try perching in Christian Louboutins at an all-night hostage standoff.

Soon after going to work at The Hollywood Reporter, my boss told me I'd be attending the BAFTA Awards (British version of the Oscars) - that night.

I felt like Cinderella.  I'd be rubbing elbows with guests like Denzel Washington and Julia Roberts and I didn't have a gown.  My former TV stations had taken care of everything when we needed formal attire so there'd been no need to buy a gown that could only be worn once on-air.

Enter fairy godmother (they do exist!). A co-worker must have heard me sniffling in my cubicle. "Stand up," she ordered, visually taking in my measurements.  "Come with me."

My fairy godmother drove me to her Hollywood Hills home where a lady-in-waiting (ok, her daughter) met us.  An aspiring stylist, she'd seen to every detail from gowns to makeup to glass slippers (ok, high heels).

The ballroom, a sea of silk and diamonds, was just like the fairytale.  At the end of the enchanted evening, my chariot (ok, taxi) was waiting.  

I didn't think of it before but one detail was missing.  Where was Prince Charming?

--
Check out part 2 of my road to the red carpet here.

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I Forgive Oprah

Oprah Winfrey. Photo:  Rolling Out.

It feels like I've been away in rehab but really just reinventing myself at Hollywood's Become a Host TV coaching program.  

"We haven't had a breakthrough until someone's in tears," our coach said. 

I had a breakthrough.  I forgive Oprah.

Back when Oprah shot to fame with her Chicago-based talk show, I was an overweight Black girl on the way to becoming a newscaster; the same way Oprah got started. Given the similarities to Oprah's story, maybe the nickname was inevitable:

Little Oprah. 

I hated it.  I wanted people to view me as a serious journalist, not a daytime diva.  I wanted to cover disasters and wars;  not celebrities with egos as inflated as their paychecks.

And truthfully, Oprah's extra curvy figure wasn't...Well, like many girls, I fantasized about being the hot, thin star on those glossy magazine covers.

I stayed away from the drama of daytime talk show positions or jobs that required interviewing celebrities - leave that throne to Oprah.   

Later, after years on the crime beat, I was so hardened that our news director would send me to cover gruesome murder scenes that none of the men wanted to see.

I tried so hard to prove I was not Little Oprah that I missed my own story.

"I made a mistake," I told my coach.

"You took a different path," she replied reassuringly.

Honestly?  Oprah doesn't need my forgiveness; she's not to blame for my missed opportunities.  Sure, I still want to tell stories that set the world ablaze but now that may mean sharing the set with a celebrity or two.

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Kinky. Nappy. Frizzy.

Gabby Douglas. Photo: www.fleurdecurl.com

Gold medalist Gabby Douglas responded beautifully to haters who said her hair looked "unkempt" at the Olympics:  "I just made history and people are focused on my hair?"

I lived in Gabby's Iowa town back when I was chasing presidential candidates through cornfields for the NBC station. I covered politics but that changed the day I was sent to fill in at the murder trial for two teen brothers.

The brothers claimed they had just meant to scare the victim - chasing him with a shotgun - but a bullet had ricocheted off the ground. The courtroom drama was made-for-TV stuff.

At one point, the prosecutor grabbed the shotgun off the evidence table, aimed at the jury and cocked it.  Screams.  People ducking. Banging gavel.

The prosecutor had made his point:  Waving a gun in the air? That's scaring someone.  Pulling a trigger?  That's murder.

"You're on the crime beat now," my boss said after my stories aired to stellar ratings.

On that beat, you quickly see that weapons are more than guns and knives. Sometimes they're words...like the ones hurled at Gabby Douglas.  Meant to crush not the body, but the spirit. 

Someone needs to give her a hair intervention.  

She needs some gel and a brush.  

She needs to represent. 

Kinky. Nappy. Frizzy.  For many Black women, our hair sometimes feels like a crown of thorns.

Gabby doesn't see it that way. "It can be bald or short," she said, "it doesn't matter about (my) hair."

The name of my blog comes from a critic's comment, "Honey, blot your lips!"  We pinned up that note as a reminder to check each other's appearance before going on air.  We learned to turn meanness into motivation and garbage into gold - just like Gabby's done.

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Breaking Bad

Experts say it takes six weeks to break a habit.  I'm not battling pills or booze but I am trying to break a style picked up working the TV news crime beat. Newscasters have a distinct on-air style that's hindering me from doing more creative work - work that doesn't require covering dead bodies.

"We just need to get the newscaster out of you," TV coach Marki Costello said at our first session.  I'd called Marki after seeing her help former NFL pro Hank Baskett move from the football field to the studio.

Marki teaches the same technical skills like TelePrompter and breaking down copy that newscasters learn but in a way that fits the style of TV hosting. Hosting is a completely different beast than news; sort of like the difference between boxers and wrestlers - both compete in a ring but they need different abilities.

"Reveal something about yourself we'd never know by looking at you," Marki instructed in her Hosting Boot Camp, "to help the audience connect with you." 

Hosts share intimate secrets with their audiences; as newscasters, we're trained to hide behind the camera. Newscasters tell other people's stories, not our own.  Strip off that protective layer?  No way.  

I revealed that my military dad had me in boxing gloves before I could read. My tone conveyed my message: back off.

Next assignment was reading copy for a dating show. Marking stopped me after a few sentences demanding, "What do YOU think?"  

As news anchors, we're trained to stay out of the story; whereas hosts make money off of their opinions. 

"That petite woman who won't date tall men has no idea what she's missing!"  I blurted out. Great. Now the audience thinks I sleep with NBA players.

Then came a live co-hosting drill. In news, we face a camera - not a crowd. The live audience felt like a jury. I mumbled a few words about the topic - travel, told a story about a recent trip to a Third World country - and crept back to my seat. 

A hot guy from The Bachelorette leaned over and whispered, "Do you know you said, 'pooped in a can?'" 

Despite Marki's coaching, I felt  stuck.  Too old to change with habits too big to break. Six weeks in TV rehab?  At least there shouldn't be any dead bodies. 

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Girls Who Wear Pink

Kendra Wilkinson & Hank Baskett.

As a kid, I did not wear pink.  I lived in sneakers and overalls and my dad's army boots.  I loved clomping around in  his big, spiffy combat boots.  They were black and shiny and made me feel fierce and unstoppable.  

I still prefer to wear combat boots over high heels but thanks to a Playboy Playmate, I'm finally becoming one of those girls who wear pink (not a bunny suit!). 

I tuned in to the TV show Kendra on Top to watch a friend's guest appearance on reality the show. The show follows a racy former Playmate and her husband, Hank, as they leave the fast lane for family life. I caught an episode about Hank training to break into TV after retiring from the NFL. 

Watching Hank work with a TV hosting coach, I wondered if she might be able to help me, too.  Newscasters have a distinct on-air style that's gotten in my way when I audition for more creative roles.  At one commercial test, a cranky agent even snapped, "I want you to sell the sugar, not put it on the news." 

A phone call and $600 later, I was signed up for a weekend with Hollywood's self-professed Queen of Hosting. Marki Costello's roster includes celebrities like Cee Lo, Khloe Kardashian and many more.  

Time to step up my game fast. Hosting Boot Camp was just a month away. 

Since we'd be filming against in a green screen studio, I knew I'd need new clothes.  My closet is full of dark and neutral colors that look fine for reporting in the field but that are way too dull in the studio.  

Time had come to join the girls who wear...

Yep.  Pink would perfectly "pop" with my skin tone.  Bought my first-ever pink blouse.  Hope it looks okay with combat boots.

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Thrill Seekers. Younger Dates. New Cars.

**post contains graphic content**

Why is it that after doing something you’ve dreamed of for a long time, the thrill fades so quickly? You’re left wondering, “What's next?” 

I didn’t expect to hit that place so soon after skydiving.  My brother thinks he knows why:  “Some people have a mid-life crisis and buy a new car or date a younger person,” he says. “My sister jumps from a perfectly good airplane!” 

I prefer to think some of us are born with an extra adventure gene. Besides, journalists are wired to take risks; our jobs demand it. 

But those risks often come at a high emotional cost and there are few healthy outlets. How do you escape memories? 

...a teenage girl dying naked in the street fleeing the jilted boy who stabbed her...a mom's mangled body as a drunk driver who slammed into her car sits unscathed in his...fathers blown to bits in a freak accident...

...They were repairing a gas main when it exploded.  We were the first TV crew to arrive.

“GET BACK!” yelled police cordoning off the scene. “You’re stepping on them!”  

We'd unkowingly walked into the blast area, trampling bits of flesh.

After doing interviews, I went to take notes.  Something in the brush - a stark, white boulder? - caught my eye.  It wasn't a rock. 

“Commander!" I yelled, "Over here!"  A man's head...the blast area was wider than we'd realized.

Fathers. husbands. sons. How do you forget?  I've watched friends get lost trying - drinking, drugs, eating disorders. 

Without faith and adventure I'd probably get lost, too. 

So yes, I plan to skydive again. Without my brother.  "No thanks," he said, “I don't want my last words on earth to be with some man strapped to my back."

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Dark Chocolate & D Cups

Halle Berry.  Photo: Entertainment Rundown.

Checking out the audience at a recent Hollywood event, not a stray hair or scuffed Jimmy Choo in the house, it was striking to see a room of mostly Black women. 

They call themselves Dark Chocolate.

The SAG-AFTRA event, part sorority/part pep rally, was hosted by a group that is fighting Hollywood's pervasive stereotype of leading ladies:  big breasts, light skin, size zero.  Black women, especially those with dark skin and curves, barely stand a chance at being cast in starring roles. 

 "Name five dark chocolate women in romantic leads on TV or in movies," the host challenged. No one could. 

Industry figures show people of any color are hired for less than 15% of all roles. In fact, Hollywood remains one of the only places where hiring discrimination based on skin color, size or age is still legal.

One of Halle Berry's stunt doubles (looking even thinner than the 5'7," 123 pound Oscar winner) sat by me so we started talking.  "Halle gave me a chance and it grew from there," Eva (not her real name) said.

Eva encouraged me to consider stunt training after I mentioned my recent skydive (omitting all the shrieking). She said a good place to start is with precision driving, where skill matters more than skin color or breast size since the actual driver seldom gets screen time.

Realistically? Doors aren't going to fly open anytime soon for women like me.  But like Eva said, you just have to be ready when one does like it did for Halle's team - which even includes a MALE double. 

Halle Berry's Catwoman stunt double (The Honolulu Advertiser photo)

Yes, a MAN (Nito Larioza) performed many of Halle's sexy-fierce Catwoman moves!

Sometimes talent does triumph over fair skin and D cups.

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Freefalling!

say your prayers!

Every once in a while we experience that surreal moment when a dream becomes reality.  

Skydiving was one of those moments.  

I've wanted to go ever since I was a kid growing up on military bases where we'd watch the paratroopers train. 

Fast forward a few decades.  One of the deadliest natural disasters in history.  Haiti.  A team of strangers risking their lives to save others.

They're the kind of fearless souls who pull people from burning buildings. climb Mt. Everest. fight wars for our freedom. attempt feats most of us wouldn't dare.

At first I felt out of place.  They save lives; they know what to do with bloody wounds and cracked skulls.  Me?  I know what to do with a camera and a pen. 

But somehow we fit. 

And that's how skydiving came up.   We got the idea to jump as a way to raise funds for an orphanage.  Our Heights for Haiti jump fell through but two of us decided to go anyway.

Ironically, we were assigned to the same plane for our tandem jumps as a team of training soldiers.  As the plane climbed, they'd suddenly vanish out the open door, sometimes mid-sentence.  I thought my heart would fail each time. 

When my turn came, I looked into heaven and began...screaming.  "Oh!  My!  God!"  

Freefalling at 120 mph (experts say it's like floating, not a rollercoaster drop; I felt both) all I could do was pray. And scream. 

When we finally landed an eternity later (ok, about five minutes), the Skydive Arizona crew made me feel like a hero just for strapping on the harness.  

But the real heroes are the Haiti team and those who risk their lives for others - you are the courageous ones.

YouTube link of my jump! My favorite part is 2:24 when Chad jumps - and I realize I'm next. "Chaaaad! Oh my God!!" 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7XlkSz4QFJU&feature=youtu.be

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Almost Jump Time!

Three days until the big jump!  Of course, the news would keep showing video of the 80-year-old grandma's near fatal skydive when her harness malfunctions...*

Still, we're ready (my jump partner is an EMT I met heading to Haiti after the  earthquake).  I'm more worried about the heat. It's supposed to get up to 110 at the drop zone - could be trouble for someone used to 70 degree coastal temps.

Skydiving Magazine says freefall doesn't feel like the roller coaster drop most people expect so that makes me less nervous.  They say freefall is more like "a comfortable sensation of floating; the closest thing to human flight." 

So why skydiving?  I'm still trying to answer that question but maybe it just comes down to this:  adventure.  

Whether reporting in a disaster zone or caring for orphans in a Third World slum, adventure forces me to draw on my faith in ways ordinary life doesn't.  Away from our comfort zones, we're far more dependent on God and can sense a grace higher than any adrenaline rush.

Who knows, maybe facing fear opens the door for greater grace?  And grace always precedes great exploits.  

A demon-possessed man who lived in tombs?  Grace restored.  

A soldier whose ear got cut off ambushing Jesus?  Grace healed.  

A woman caught in adultery?  Grace forgave. 

And a grandmother who almost died skydiving?  Grace saved.

Grace and skydiving? Who knows.  In any case, I like what the thrill-seeking grandma said to a reporter who suggested safer hobbies: "Knitting is boring." 

***

Grandmother's near fatal skydive:

http://www.wtsp.com/news/national/article/256956/81/Grandmother-talks-about-terrifying-skydiving-jump

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Slaying Giants

The long-awaited adventure is almost here!  Flights are booked.  Reservation is set.  Soon I'll be strapped to a stranger and hurling toward earth at 130 mph. 

The question people ask most is, "Why skydiving?"  What they mean is, "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!" 

"I seem to be missing the gene that says, 'This is dangerous, don't do it,'" I recently told friends in Haiti. 

Motorcycle taxi to the market in Haiti

They were trying to talk me out of riding a motorcycle taxi to the market.  The market wasn't far but motorcylists are often killed due to the lack of traffic laws and the fact that most don't own helmets or protective gear. 

Still, I was determined to experience this common Haitian method of commute; sometimes entire families, toting babies and bags, ride one motorcycle! 

So, armed with tips from our host on how to barter for mangos and pineapples, I eagerly climbed on the bike when the driver arrived.

In Haiti, drivers use whichever side of the road is open. I held my breath as we'd swerve back into our lane seconds from a head-on collision. I feared scraping the skin off my arms as we dodged through inches-wide openings between trucks. 

I soon quit trying to ride like the fearless Haitians and clasped both arms around my driver's waist as tightly as I could.

Two hours later we arrived back home without a scratch.  Mangos never tasted sweeter.

So why skydiving?  Like the motorcycle ride, I can't explain it.  I just know it's about slaying a giant:  Fear.  Like the biblical queen Esther, it has to do with destiny.  embracing faith.  I'm tired of being beaten by giants.  

Besides, look at Esther - she took a risk and it led to a throne.

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