THE FLIGHT OF MERY ROSE
Flying has been one of humanity's oldest dreams.
Who hasn't dreamed of soaring high up in the beautiful blue skies like a happy bird?!
THE DREAM OG F
When I was a child, I dreamed that I was a bird. I gently flew, gliding through the skies! I could feel the cold breeze brushing against my face. Seeing life from a different perspective, from top to bottom, was a truly unique experience—I felt a sense of freedom, happiness, and empowerment.
The endless horizon, the apparent line where the sky appears to touch the Earth, was adorned like a dazzling diamond necklace and mesmerizing! The dream felt so real that it remains one of the most vivid dreams I have ever had. Today, "The Dream of Flying" (O Sonho de Voar!) is the name of one of my beautiful poems.
the dream of flight
Flying has been one of humanity's oldest dreams.
Who hasn't dreamed of soaring high up in the beautiful blue skies like a happy bird?!
When I was a child, I constantly dreamed that I was a bird. I gently flew, gliding through the skies! I could feel the cold breeze brushing against my face. Seeing life from a different perspective—top to bottom—was a truly unique experience—I felt free, happy, and empowered.
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The endless horizon, the apparent line where the sky seemed to touch the Earth, was adorned like a dazzling diamond necklace and mesmerizing! The dreams felt so real that they remain among the most vivid I have ever had.
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Today, "The Dream of Flying" is the title of one of my beautiful poems. —It originated in Portuguese linguette (O Sonho de Voar!), where the stanzas rhyme. When translated into English, these rhyme. charms disappear.
Castelo SÃtio The Land That Raised Me:
I grew up on my parents’ land, Castelo Sítio — a large farm in the backlands of Maranhão, my homeland in northeastern Brazil. It is a rural area crossed by the equator, characterized by a tropical climate with hot, humid weather and year-round rainfall.
Every afternoon, almost without fail, the rain arrived precisely at three o’clock.
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Heavy rain—sudden and loud—accompanied by lightning and thunder. It rarely lasted more than fifteen minutes. Then, just as suddenly, it stopped. The clouds parted, and the sun reappeared, warm and generous, as if nothing had happened.
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When we made plans with friends, we used to joke, “See you after the rain… or before the rain.”
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Some of my most vivid childhood memories are of being in that rain—laughing, chasing rainbows, breathing in the unmistakable scent of wet earth. The smell had a name I would learn later: petrichor, the perfume released when rain touches dry soil. To me, it simply meant home.
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Outside My Age:
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What does it mean to live constantly outside your age?
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As a child, people said I had an “old soul”—that I thought too much, too deeply, too far ahead. They said I was serious, analytical, different.
As an adult, they say the opposite—that I’m too playful, too curious, too childlike.
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Perhaps I never fit neatly into time.
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At Castelo Sítio, my daily task was to manually check the rain gauge and record the readings in what we called the BB — Big Book. The hydrometer measured rainfall volume and temperature with precision. Rainfall at Castelo Sítio was always intense, consistently high.
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That task was my father’s — but he entrusted it to me.
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He became my first and most significant source of inspiration. Patient and exacting, he taught me how the system worked, explaining details far beyond what a child my age was expected to understand. I loved it. By the time I was five, I was exceeding expectations, and the praise I received made him proud
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He opened a bank savings account for me and deposited the small amounts he paid me for my work.
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A year later, full of pride, I decided to buy my new bicycle and Christmas gifts for everyone at home—using only the money I had earned myself.
But when the accountant returned from the bank, his news crushed me.
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Inflation had devalued my savings. My account was in the red. The banker advised me to make an immediate deposit to avoid my name being listed with the Credit Protection Service (SPC) for bad credit.
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I didn’t understand inflation.
I understood loss.
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I cried uncontrollably, convinced the bank had stolen the first money I had ever earned. My father kneeled beside me, wiping my tears, trying to soothe a pain that felt enormous and permanent. Everyone in the house felt it with me.
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In the end, my father made another deposit and gently forced us to forget the whole thing.
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I never did.
​​A vast natural forest of babassu coconut palms, native to Brazil, surrounds Castelo Sítio. These palms grow under the influence of three climates—equatorial, semi-arid, and tropical. Nearly ninety percent of all babassu forests in Brazil are in Maranhão.
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The trees can reach up to sixty feet tall and grow freely without cultivation.
The babassu coconut is remarkably versatile. Its oil is used in soaps, cosmetics, cooking oils, margarines, and specialty fats. The coconut powder—rich in starch—is essential in regional cuisine and highly nutritious vegetable drinks. The almond becomes vinegar or cachaça, the traditional Brazilian spirit.
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From one tree, there is sustenance, industry, and livelihood.
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That land taught me early that nothing of value exists for only one purpose.
Big Family
I was raised in a large, loving household. I lived with my parents, five siblings—two brothers and three sisters—and my paternal grandparents, Grandpa Christiano and Grandma MA (Maria dos Anjos).
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I am the fourth child, and I look like my father.
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Throughout my life, I have never met anyone who did not love my parents or my grandparents. They were loved wherever they went.
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My grandparents, my father, and my two brothers—Naciff and Neiff—have all passed away. My two brothers, Neiff and Naciff, had Turkish names. They were named after two childhood friends of my father. This family came to live in Brazil after World War II and was my father's neighbors.
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Cristo Chico​
My father was known as Chico Cristo. “Chico” because there were many Franciscos, and “Cristo” derived from his father’s name, Cristiano—a name shaped by family, history, and affection.
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He was the most honest and kind man I have ever known. Rare. Unrepeatable.
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I was his favorite daughter. I walked everywhere with him. He taught me to drive, and by the age of seven, I was driving everything at Castelo Sítio—tractors, trucks, jeeps.
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He was the best father a daughter could ever have.
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No one has ever loved me the way he did.
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And I miss him more than words can carry.
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Mimosa
Mimosa—a charming, sweet nickname—fits my mother perfectly.
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A retired Fine Arts teacher, she possesses a magnetic presence that effortlessly draws people in. Flexible in spirit, approachable in manner, and blessed with an enviable figure, Mimosa turns heads wherever she goes—not because she seeks attention, but because vitality seems to walk beside her.
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At home, the famous drink that shares her name—the Mimosa, a sparkling mix of champagne, orange juice, and ice—has been our favorite for decades. It feels fitting. Light, joyful, celebratory—just like her.
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When asked the secret to such a long and fascinating married life, she laughs and replies with disarming honesty:
“Life isn’t always as rosy as it looks. After all these years of marriage, I can hardly wear high heels—I’m taller than my husband!”
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Her spontaneity sends the room into laughter every time.
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I lovingly call her Mimozita de Açúcar—my little sugar mimosa.
In May 2025, Mimosa celebrated her 96th birthday with family and many friends.
Chico Cristo & Mimosa were married for 56 years.
At ninety-six years old, she lives alone in her beautiful two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment, just next door to our family, in the same tower. Independence is not something she talks about—it’s something she lives.
Twice a week, she attends swimming classes with friends at her condominium. She dresses impeccably, always choosing accessories that complete her look with elegance. Her hair and nails are professionally done at home every week. She strolls through the mall to shop, delights in ice cream made from natural regional fruits, and hosts friends for afternoon coffee and cake—always at four o’clock.
In the evenings, she relaxes with her favorite soap operas and enjoys a daily glass of red wine.
This is not indulgence.
This is artful living.
As a wife, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, and great-great-grandmother, Mimosa reigns as the queen of five generations. Each morning, she wakes to a breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean on São Luís Island—a reminder that beauty, like time, never truly leaves those who know how to welcome it.
She loves parties and is always the first name on every guest list.
“A party without Mimosa,” people say, “isn’t a party at all.”
And they’re right.
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Mimosa is similar to champagne blended with a sunset.
Between School and Castelo Sítio’s Life
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School hours ran from 8 a.m. to noon. The school building was about three miles from home—close enough to feel familiar, far enough to seem like an adventure.
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Every weekday at 7:45 a.m., the school bus stopped in front of the gate at Castelo Sítio. My brother Neiff, two years older than me, and I climbed aboard together. At 12:30 p.m., the bus brought us back home, dust trailing behind it like a signature.
​Everyone in the area knew the school bus owner/driver, but never by his real name. No one remembered it. Instead, he proudly went by his nickname: Boca-Rica—Rich Mouth—earned because of some teeth covered in gold that flashed whenever he laughed.
Aunt Núbia, Boca-Rica's wife, works with him, helping all of us get on and off the bus. Always caring, she was known for her kindness and dedication. Inside the bus, she would tell stories and/or sing religious hymns.
Sometimes, when the bus broke down, we would walk back to the Castle Sítio, and that was incredibly fun. We would arrive home tired and hungry, not only from the adventures along the road but also from the hot sun.
After school, the rest of the day belonged entirely to me at the Castelo Sitio.
I knew every inch of the Castle Sitio grounds. I ran from one end of the land to the other, barefoot, wearing only shorts and a top, my hair always down and flowing—unstoppable. I ran, talked with everyone, rode my bike until my legs and body could take no more. I swam for hours. I climbed trees and jumped from their highest branches into the cold river below, trusting instinct more than caution.
When jumping from trees no longer satisfied my appetite for height, I started jumping from the slightly higher bridge.
I never thought of it as danger—only distance from the house, only free air, free life, only the moment right before gravity decided the rest.
Looking back now, I understand that I was already practicing for something bigger—learning how to trust my body, my timing, and the quiet voice inside that said, go… go ahead, Meryyyy!... Later, the heights would be much higher and far more exciting.
The sky was not yet on my side.
But I was already learning how to take off.
On the road, fun was guaranteed. The dogs from nearby farms didn’t like "strangers" who “stole” fruit. Still, I would risk everything to climb to the top of the guava tree and pick what looked like the biggest, ripest, and sweetest guava.
Usually, I took one for my brother Neiff, one for my dad, and another for myself.
My brother Neiff spoiled me all the time. I was everything to him. When he started calling me only "my little beautiful," I also began calling him only "my little beautiful, too." His personality resembles our father's. He was my best brother and my best friend. He was very well-behaved - unlike me - and even though he knew I was doing things that might be considered wrong, like taking guavas from the neighbor's farm, he let me do whatever I wanted. He always promised not to tell Dad anything... he never disappointed me.
My Little Beautiful - My unforgettable, beloved brother Neiff.
Senhorita Zig-Zag
I developed a strong, independent ethic at Castelo Sítio and knew everyone there by name. However, I realized that both my parents and the employees, especially Uncle Osorio, the farm manager, looked after me very carefully, as there was a lot of activity during the week due to the number of trucks - with unfamiliar crews - coming to pick up babassu coconut, vegetables, rice, sugarcane, peanuts, cassava, sweet potatoes, bananas, oranges, black pepper, and much more.
As I grew older—around the age of seven—I naturally became a little guardian to the children of the staff who lived in the Castle Sitio village. It felt instinctive, as though I were simply reflecting the lessons and values my parents had given me.
I explained to them why it was important not to waste food, energy, or water. I taught them meaningful and playful activities: how to make a campfire and light it safely, always emphasizing the respect fire requires; how to cut colored paper to create decorative flags, explaining how to handle scissors well; how to care for animals, water plants, and even decorate a room for our improvised, slightly fun theater performances.
I was an active child with a strong sense of responsibility—already showing signs of leadership, initiative, confidence, and the ability to lead a group of other kids. Full of energy, I was always running from one place to another, zigzagging quickly in all directions; that’s how I earned the nickname “Miss Zig-Zag."
I can’t say I enjoyed the joke. But then again—who didn’t have a nickname in childhood?
Even then, I didn’t believe giving someone a nickname was necessarily kind. To make matters worse, the Eurípedes, an employee who always had difficulty pronouncing certain words, mispronounced my nickname: “Miss Zig-Daia.”
I didn't like that at all.
I announced, firmly, that the nickname session was over—and that no one was allowed to use it anymore.
My father was my protector and my hero. When things went wrong, he usually intervened on my behalf and resolved them gently. He even tried to convince me that “Miss Zig-Zag” was funny and suited me, but I told him to stop. Seeing how distressed I was, everyone at Castle Sitio stopped using it at his request.
At home, however, it was a different story.
Whenever I did something my sisters didn’t like, they would sing together, laughing:
“Stop, Miss Zig-Zag!... Stop, Miss Zig-Daia!...”
I pretended I didn’t care.
Because I was my father’s favorite daughter — "My green-eyed girl," that's what he used to call me —, they were jealous of the bond we shared. Their jealousy surfaced loudly and without restraint. I learned to dismiss the provocations—or at least to appear as though I did.
But the jealousy never really ended. Even now, it’s astonishing. They still distort facts and laugh, telling others my childhood nickname, “Miss Zig-Daia.” To what end?
We never became friends.
In truth, envy causes mental and emotional pain to the person who carries it. It’s like an ulcer on the soul. Growing up with that example at home taught me something important: I learned not to feel jealous of anyone or anything.
I’ve moved beyond it.
I’m out.
My Nest
A Treehouse.
When I was about seven years old, I decided to build my cute and cozy treehouse, which I named "My Nest." I had many helpers: my father, my brothers Neiff and Nacif, Tio Odorio, Euripedes, Joaquim, and many other workers from Castelo Sítio. I miss it so much!
I didn't think much about the future when I was a kid. I only wondered how I could fly high like the birds. How were they able to flap their wings and soar so high? The way they make it looks so easy.
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I remember my father and his friends constantly asking me what I wanted to be when I grew up. So, I decided to talk with him about the subject. He paused what he was doing and expressed his enthusiasm for the topic by kissing my face.
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— "So, my beautiful, do you already have an answer?" He inquired.
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— "Dad, I don't consider these things. It's for adults to worry about the future. "I'm only seven years old," I remarked.
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—"My little princess, I understand that you have important things to focus on in your childhood, and I support that. But I would like you to spend more time studying. You need to do your homework every day. As you requested, I provided you with a 'Geography of Brazil for kids' book and a 100-piece Brazil Map puzzle, but you haven't had the chance to use them yet. You focus only on playing all the time." He said.​
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—Dad, my piece of dark chocolate with babaçu coconut, before you go ahead, let me remind you of one thing: I spend four hours a day, five days a week at school, studying, and you still want me to study when I arrive home? Do you want to have a daughter with a degree in astronomy and/or science? That doesn't suit me." I said.
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​— “Mery, my dear, you’re hilarious. Where did you learn to defend yourself like that? Sometimes, you really scare me. But don’t make me laugh too much—I still have some serious concerns I’d like to discuss with you. Your frequent falls from the bike have left you with scratches all over your body. Every day, I have to put bandages all over your body. It breaks my heart. I understand your passion for pushing yourself to go faster and perform higher pirouettes, but could you please consider slowing down a bit? On top of that, the bike itself is completely broken.”
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“Dad, you know how to turn a pleasant conversation into a scolding one,” I said.
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“My sweetheart, this is not a scolding. I want you to know that my concern for you does not diminish my pride in your talents. You’re a genius, little girl! Your sophisticated skills are impressive and meaningful. Just look at your Nest— your treehouse—it’s beautifully designed! I truly admire both your idea and its execution. You have the potential to become a successful architect. I’m so happy and proud of everything you do,” he said, his voice filled with genuine pride.
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“Well, the bougainvillea has grown beautifully and fast!" He said. "It’s so lovely! And you were right—during this warm weather, the inside of the Nest has become much cooler. I loved that detail, too.”
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He continuing
The idea of ​​planting the bougainvillea even before building their Nest was another stroke of genius.
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“Thank you, Dad! I love my Nest so much. I want to sleep there every night, but you don’t let me because it isn’t safe at night.”
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“Believe me, my love, your Nest isn’t safe for overnight stays. The Castelo Sítio is full of wild animals after dark, and you don’t need that. You already have one of the finest princess rooms here at the Castelo Sítio.”
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“Thank you, Dad. I understand.”
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“Dad, listen to this,” I said. “I’m planning a barbecue party to thank everyone who helped me build my Nest. Especially you, Neiff, Naciff, and Uncle Odório. And to everyone else as well, right? It’s going to be fantastic! I’m throwing a huge party. Of course, it will be on the ground floor, where we’ll set up a space with a barbecue grill, benches, and a big table.”
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“That’s very thoughtful of you,” he said. “We’ll all help with the preparations.”
I was in my beautiful and comfortable room.
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Knock, knock.
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“Come in.”
"Mimozita de açúcar! Welcome!... Mom, I really wanted to talk to you.”
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She looked around, scanning the room.“What’s all this? Why are you packing these things?”
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I explained that I was gathering a few items to take to my Nest: my schoolbooks, crossword puzzle books, my puzzle collection, and my bicycle accessories and bike clothes.
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“What did you want to talk about?” She asked.
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“It’s about the barbecue party I’m organizing at my Nest.”
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Oh. I already know,” she said. “Francisco told me. We'll help you.”
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“Well… My daughter, I also wanted to talk about something else."
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”She looked at me carefully.
“Have you jumped off the bridge?”
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"Geez, Mom! Everything I do seems wrong. What’s so wrong about jumping off a bridge?”
Then, softly: “... and please—don’t tell Dad.”
“Your father already knows,” she said. “He’s losing sleep, worrying that you’ll get hurt.”
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I felt helpless.
Should I become a Sant? I’m nothing like my sisters, who stay locked inside the house all the time, holding your skirts.
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“Well, I just came to warn you,” she added. “Your father is going to scold you.”
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The next day.
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—“Hello, my U-Turn little girl!"
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—"Dad, are you calling me 'my 'U-Turn, little girl'?"
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—No. I called you "my green-eyed little girl!"... “It’s just that you’ve been avoiding me."
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I grabbed my bicycle and ran off.
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—“Come back here, my beautiful green-eyed girl!
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—"Hello, my little girl!... Come back here!"
"I needed to find a way to face my father." I thought to myself. I won't be able to run away from him for much longer. I even miss him already! Anyway, he's going to scold me for jumping off the bridge.
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"Good afternoon, Sir Chico Cristo!..."
He lifted his head and looked at me with a big smile.
He also wanted to make peace.
"Come here, my little princess. Give me a kiss and a hug!"
Then he paused and said:
Let's talk. Let's speak as the two adults we truly are.
“I want to talk about your adventurous spirit—climbing to the tops of trees and jumping into the river—has always worried me. But it’s also something I’ve always admired. Now, I’ve heard that you jumped off the bridge. That bridge is so high, my dear. This has been keeping me up at night. I can’t bear the thought of my beautiful daughter getting hurt.”
“Dad, don’t worry,” I said. “The risk is the same whether I jump from a tree or from a bridge. Yes, the bridge is high, but it’s solid concrete. Tree branches sway so much that sometimes I almost fall even before I jump.”
“Oh my God!” he exclaimed, half joking. “My little daughter… my little sweetheart… these things are hard for me. My heart is getting old—it can’t take this anymore. At any moment, I could have a heart attack.”
Then he smiled.
He moved closer and said:
"My little girl, I’m not sure who you take after," he said. "Your mother and I don’t quite possess the same energy and courage that you do. You are a powerful little girl—so brave and special! You truly embody the spirit of your sign, Taurus, with immense strength. You have a dazzling love for life."
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“Dad,” I replied, smiling, “as you love to say, ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’ My DNA is definitely a combination of both of you. I inherited strength, energy, and courage from you both. Taking care of this large farm called Castelo Sítio, with over 100 employees, and..." I paused briefly before wrapping up... "and, being married and having six kids in a short period of eight years, takes an incredible amount of energy and unwavering courage. —Wouldn’t you agree with me?”
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His face turned red, but he laughed loudly, trying to catch me.
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I'll see you later, alligator!" I said, running away from him.
C-130 Hercules, a legendary cargo plane, of the Brazilian Air Force (FAB).
I vividly remember being just 8 years old when I first heard about skydiving while watching a captivating television program featuring a Parachute Infantry Regiment from Rio de Janeiro. The episode showed a stunning launch of 30 brave paratroopers aboard a C-130 Hercules, an iconic cargo plane of the Brazilian Air Force (FAB). Before takeoff, the instructor passionately explained that, after two months of intense training, these soldiers would jump out from a height of 2,500 feet.
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In that exciting moment, a whirlwind of questions raced through my mind: "Was it really possible? How could these fearless soldiers gather the courage to jump out of a plane from such a tall height? What if their parachutes didn't open? How could the instructor open the plane’s door mid-flight? Were they forced by military service to do such a daring task?"
The C-130 Hercules soared into the sky, showcasing the instructor's strong leadership and the soldiers' unwavering discipline. Inside the aircraft, an intense silence enveloped everyone, each one ready for the mission ahead. A few minutes after takeoff, the instructor opened the Hercules's door and communicated with the pilot through the aircraft's radio to position the Hercules on the jump route.
He signaled the soldiers to stand up, their parachute connectors securely fastened to the steel cable above, (parachute opening tape), were clad in their camouflage jumpsuits, helmets, boots, and equipped with T-10 round parachutes and ventral reserve parachutes, they moved toward the big open door, and with a commanding shout of "READY, SET, GO!" the soldiers jumped into the vast expanse sky opened; a breathtaking display of bravery and precision.
As I watched the soldiers jump from the Hercules, my heart pounded with adrenaline. In that moment, I felt a strong desire to fly alongside them. I remember a dream I had: I was a bird soaring freely through the sky, and I declared with conviction, “When I grow up, I’m going to fly. I'll be a paratrooper!” I understood that this would be an extraordinary act of freedom and bravery, something we all wish for but only a few dare to pursue—that night, I couldn't sleep. I spent the whole night imagining that when I grew up, I would fly.
How Skydiving Changed My Life.
Life Has These Things:
I was nineteen when Roberto started asking me—persistently—if I wanted to be his girlfriend.
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“But you already have a girlfriend,” I reminded him one afternoon.
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“That girl you always see me with—her name is Mary. She was my girlfriend,” he said casually. “Today, she’s just my friend.”
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I wasn’t convinced, but life moved on.
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One day after school, I saw Roberto talking with a friend in the courtyard. I joined them, and soon his friend walked away, leaving us alone. I mentioned that I’d recently seen him with Mary at the ice cream shop.
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“Oh, that’s true!” he said, laughing. “Mary came to me so excited—she told me she signed up for a skydiving school.”
“A skydiving course?” I blurted out. “That sounds incredible. Where is it?”
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He raised his eyebrows, amused.
“Calm down, my beauty! Don’t tell me you want to skydive, too. It seems all Marys are crazy.”
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Then his tone changed.
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“She won’t stop talking about it. I told her to quit—I’m worried about her safety. Skydiving is extremely dangerous. It’s a man’s sport.”
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“There isn’t even skydiving in this state,” I said. “How does a course suddenly appear? No one’s heard about it.”
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“It’s private,” he explained. “At the Military Police Academy. It starts Monday. Mary works as a banker—she helps manage the military police bank account. So, she spoke directly to Commander Cel. Canodo Tupy Caldas. There are twenty students—military only. She’s the only civilian. And the only woman. The instructors are coming from another state.”
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I felt something shift inside me.
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Shock gave way to excitement—pure, electric excitement. Meeting Commander Cel. Tupy Caldas and his wife, Dona Naná, only deepened the feeling. For the first time, my childhood dream of skydiving felt close—almost reachable.
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In those summer days, I lived outdoors. Since I was twelve, I had been a member of the Associação Brasileira de Amigos Escoteiros e Bandeirantes (ABAEB), part of a city-sponsored volunteer program. We worked countless events, and I never missed one.
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That Friday afternoon, our team leader burst into the meeting beaming:
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“We’ve been invited to volunteer this Sunday at Albertão Soccer Stadium,” she announced. “The referee will parachute into the stadium carrying the game ball!”
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I froze.
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Parachuting, again? In the city?
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Just days earlier, I’d learned from Robert about the Military Police’s first parachuting course. Now, a referee would descend from the sky in front of thousands, carrying the game ball!. The coincidences felt impossible—and unsettling. Would he be one of the instructors for the course?
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I’ve never been afraid of anything. But suddenly everything felt like it was moving too fast. The course began in three days. This wasn’t something you casually signed up for at an aero club. I couldn’t sleep that night.
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Sunday arrived bright and hot.
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I was assigned to parking duty outside the stadium with a mixed group of boys and girls. I asked our team leader if I could work inside—I wanted to speak with the parachutist.
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“No,” she said. “You were inside during the last match. We rotate.”
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I was disappointed, but I tried to accept it. I told myself that the afternoon would still be special.
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Then the plane appeared.
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The crowd erupted as the parachutist jumped. Screams echoed through the stadium—but something was wrong. He was flying a round PC parachute, struggling against strong winds. He missed the stadium entirely and landed outside.
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I ran.
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I was one of the first to reach him.
“Are you okay?” I asked, breathless.
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“Yes,” he smiled. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
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I told him about my lifelong dream of skydiving.
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“Then go,” he said simply. “Register at the Military Police barracks. But hurry—classes start Monday at eight.”
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Another sleepless night.
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At seven o’clock on Monday morning, I stood before the gates of the General Command Barracks of the Military Police of the State of Piauí.
As I stepped inside, a group of armed guards in camouflage uniforms turned toward me. Helmets. Boots. Rifles.
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They stared—clearly surprised to see a young woman standing there alone, so early, so determined.
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And at that moment, I knew:
The skies had already chosen me.
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As I approached the guard post, one soldier stepped forward and asked how he could help. Then another joined him. And another. And another.
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Within seconds, I found myself standing on an island—surrounded by armed soldiers from head to toe.
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Despite the intimidating scene, my resolve did not waver. I was there for one reason only: to enroll in the parachuting course.
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One of the soldiers, with exaggerated gentleness, informed me that the course was exclusively for military personnel.
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“For tough guys,” he added theatrically. “Strong ones. Stalwart ones. Beefcakes. Capiche?”
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To emphasize his point, he struck a dramatic Hulk pose. Laughter erupted around him.
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I didn’t move.
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I didn’t smile.
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I understood exactly what he was trying to do—put me in a place he could control through ridicule. It didn’t work.
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He was a young soldier, overly pleased with himself, talking with his hands as much as his mouth. I noticed—almost absurdly—traces of nail polish on his fingers as he gestured.
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“I’d like to speak with Commander Tupy Caldas,” I said calmly.
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“He’s not here, miss,” the soldier replied. “He doesn’t usually arrive this early.”
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Before the exchange could spiral further, another presence cut through the noise. Sergeant D’Silva—the Chief of the Guard that day—approached briskly and ordered the soldiers back to their posts.
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Order returned instantly.
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I explained my request again: I wished to enroll in the parachuting course and needed authorization from Colonel Tupy Caldas.
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“The Commander is not here,” he said. “He has a meeting this morning with Governor Alberto Silva at Karnak Palace.” Then, almost dismissively, he added, “And as the Soldier Maravilha said—the course is only for military police officers. Classes already began at eight.”
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I almost laughed at the nickname Soldier Maravilha, but I stayed silent. I still believed—naively—that there was order and fairness inside those walls.
​
I asked when the Commander would return.
​
“Come back around eleven,” he said, then looked me up and down. “Your name?”
​
“Maria… ?” he guessed. And he wants to know my last name.
​
He still looked me up and down.
“No,” I corrected him sharply. “My name is not Maria. My name is Mery. M-E-R-Y. And I don’t have a last name. Capiche?”
​
He raised his hands defensively. “All right. Sorry.”
​
With one hand on his waist and the other on his chin, he continued:
​
“Senhorita Mery, it will be difficult. Even I couldn’t enroll. This course is for men—military men—handpicked by colonels from the General Command.”
​
Then his gaze lingered far too long.
​
“If I were you,” he added, “with that figure, I’d be looking for a big wedding. Why trade a beautiful dress for a camouflage jumpsuit? Sandals for oversized boots we don’t even have in your size? You’ll have to cut your hair, your nails—painting them won’t survive parachute packing anyway.”
​
I didn’t answer.
​
I turned and walked away.
​
At eleven, I returned—only to be told the Commander wouldn’t arrive until the afternoon. I sat on a bench outside the barracks, absorbing the lesson the morning had already delivered.
​​
Persistence would have to be louder than permission.
​
Thirty minutes later, I stood in front of Colonel Tupy Caldas’ home.
​
A stern, fully armed guard from the State Guard approached me. I explained that I wished to speak with the Colonel—or with Dona Naná, his wife, if he wasn’t available.
​
The guard motioned subtly for me to look behind me.
​
The Colonel’s car was pulling into the driveway.
​
The window rolled down.
​
“Mery,” he said warmly, smiling. “My favorite champion! What a pleasure to welcome you to my home.”
​
He had called me that before.
​
Years earlier, at the National Student Championship, I had won gold in the 100-meter race representing my school, Liceu. During the closing ceremony—held in the barracks courtyard—Colonel Tupy Caldas himself placed the medal around my neck.
​
“Receive this gold,” he had said, “because you were the best of all. A top-level athlete.”
​
Standing there now, I understood something clearly:
​
Some gates are guarded by rifles.
Others are open only to those who refuse to turn back.
​
And I had never been good at turning back.​
​
"Have you had lunch yet?" the Colonel asked.
I shook my head, indicating that I hadn't.
"Then you're my guest. Let's go in," he said.
​​
— The Jump Before the Jumpeap
​
The table was elegantly set. The warm light reflected on the silverware, and the comfortable silence of a well-organized home hung in the air. As soon as we sat down, the colonel, Dona Naná, and I, he went straight to the point, as he always did.
​
"So, Mery, how are your studies going?"
​
I answered proudly. I told him I had passed with excellent grades. I said I was happy—truly happy—because, after so much persistence, I had finally managed to get on the school volleyball team. I added that we were training hard for the North and Northeast School Games and that I believed, with all conviction, that this would be our year to reach the podium.
​
The colonel smiled, satisfied.
​
— "I'll keep my fingers crossed for your team. And if you need someone to present the medals, let me know. I like that."
​
There was a brief silence, interrupted by natural curiosity.
​
— "But tell me something, Mery... you're a good athlete. Why did you have so much difficulty getting on the team?"
​
I took a deep breath before answering. I explained that I have always liked playing volleyball, but my height has been a problem. In a team composed entirely of tall girls, no one wanted to accept me as a teammate. But when I dream of something, I look for a way to achieve it. What the girls from the team didn't know—and perhaps had never bothered to find out—was that I had specialized in the second ball. I was a setter, coming from beach volleyball. Technical, fast, precise.
​
— "After I proved that, the compliments started," I added, laughing. "I find it funny. In my life, everything requires a fight. Nothing ever comes easy."
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— "Wow... you're a warrior, Mery. I like that. Congratulations!" he said, with genuine admiration.
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He leaned slightly forward, energized by the memory.
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— “The awards ceremony for the Student Games in the barracks courtyard was wonderful," Colonel Tupy Caldas said. “It was a pleasure to present you with your trophy and gold medal. Once again, congratulations.”
​
I thanked him, genuinely touched. When my coach told me that it would be the Colonel himself presenting my medal, I felt a nearly childish happiness.
​
That moment was etched in my memory, not just because I had won, but because of everything around it. I was part of my school’s team. I stood in the barracks courtyard, atop the podium. I received my trophy and medal from Colonel Commander Tupy Caldas, and afterward, we took a photo that somehow captured it all—pride, effort, and belonging.
​
I remember turning to Mrs. Naná and saying, half joking, half proud, “Did you see our photo, Mrs. Naná? The Colonel and I look great on the cover of the Secretariat of Sport and Leisure magazine. I framed it—it’s hanging on the wall.”
​
She laughed and looked at us affectionately. "My congratulations to both of you. You’re very photogenic. The photo turned out beautifully. It was also published in the city newspaper.”
​
She was right. The photograph spread farther than I ever expected. The Colonel later told me he received many phone calls congratulating him—not just about the event, but about that image, frozen in time, representing something bigger than either of us alone.
​
Then his tone shifted, gentle but noticeable. The smile stayed, but his voice grew more serious.
​
— “Now, our champion,” he said, gazing directly at me, “tell me… what is this important thing you wanted to tell me? I must admit, I’m curious.”
​
And in that moment, I realized that the ceremony, the trophy, the gold medal, and even the magazine cover photo were only the beginning of the story... my dream of skydiving would become a reality. ​
​
I calmly picked up the glass of water. I took a small sip. I cleared my throat, rehearsing the posture of the businessmen I saw in the movies — well-tailored suits, firm decisions, confident gazes. A little theatrical, it's true. The colonel didn't notice. Or pretended not to notice.
​
Dona Naná observed everything in silence, attentive, with a slight smile on her face.
​
It was the moment.
​
— Colonel Tupy Caldas — I began —, as you know, I love sports. But there is one sport that I have carried with me since childhood. The sport of my dreams… is skydiving.
​
The effect was immediate.
​
The colonel raised his head, widened his eyes, looked at me, scared... and began to cough. He needed to drink water, a lot of water. He wiped his mouth with the napkin, coughed again — and then, to my surprise, began to laugh.
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— "My God, Mery… are you serious?... Would you really have the courage to skydive?"
​
The air conditioning didn't seem to be enough for the dining room. Sweat began to run down his face. He got up from the table with his water glass in hand, his other hand touching his chin as he looked worried, then walked back and forth. He approached the butler, who had been listening to the conversation from the start, and asked:
​​
— Archibaldo, would you have the courage to skydive?
​
I almost laughed at the name. Almost.
​
Archibaldo recoiled two steps, alarmed.
“No, Colonel. I’m afraid. A coward when it comes to those things.”
​
The colonel insisted, amused by the situation.
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“And if the plane were crashing, Archibaldo? Would you jump?”
​
“No, Colonel, I would die in the crash with it. But I wouldn’t jump.”
​
Dona Naná laughed a lot.
​
The colonel returned to the table. His smile was now more restrained, more attentive.
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“Very well, my champion. I understand everything now. You came here to ask for permission to participate in the parachuting course that’s taking place at the barracks.”
​
He paused strategically.
​
“The course started today at eight in the morning. Do you know that?”
​
“Yes, I do. I was there at seven sharp to speak with you. But you didn’t show up at the barracks this morning.”
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He sighed.
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“My dear… the course is exclusively for military personnel. The State Military Police is funding everything. How can I justify the participation of a civilian?”
​
While he spoke, Archibald discreetly removed the crumpled napkin from his hands and handed him another, impeccably ironed. The colonel carefully unfolded the napkin and continued wiping his still sweaty face.
​
Then, he looked directly at me and said, in a more serious tone:
​
“And there’s one more thing, Mery. How could I put you in a barracks with more than a thousand men? That’s impossible. Think about it.”
​
I thought about it.
​
But I already knew.
​
The biggest jump of my life was still ahead.
​
—And it wouldn’t be from a plane. First, I need to have permission to participate in the class.
​​
The colonel took a deep breath before speaking. His voice was lower, almost paternal.
​
"Look, Mery," he said, "I like you very much. You're a brilliant girl. Don't think, under any circumstances, that I'm trying to exclude you from the course or prevent you from fulfilling your childhood dream. That's not it. Believe me."
​
He paused briefly.
​
"One of the requirements of the course is that everyone be at least 18 years old. And you're what? Fifteen?"
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I straightened my posture. Now there was no acting. There was conviction.
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"Colonel, I perfectly understand your concern about the costs of the course. But I'm more than willing to pay for everything. Every single penny. Besides, I'm 19 years old. I can prove it."
​
He looked at me with renewed attention. "Is it true that you're 19? You don't look it. Actually, I thought you were 13," he said, looking closely at me and smiling at the joke.
​
"Colonel," I continued, "I want to tell you something else. My gender shouldn't be a barrier."
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The silence grew heavier.
​
"The course already has a woman enrolled," I added. "You authorized Mary... I don't know her last name, but she's the bank teller at the Military Police Bank. Roberto, her boyfriend, is my friend. He's the one who told me. He said you authorized her participation."
​
The colonel choked again. He coughed hard. He stood up abruptly, as if that information had dislodged something inside him.
​
"Are you serious?" he asked, alarmed. "That's not possible... I can't believe it. You're kidding, right? I remember having a conversation with that young woman. I thought she was joking. Honestly, she didn't seem to have the courage to jump even from a chair; now she's going to jump from a plane!"
​
"Colonel," I replied firmly, "she was serious." She's there right now. At this very moment. Taking the course.
​
I wasn't absolutely sure of what I was saying. But, at that instant, the truth needed to be faster than doubt.
​
That's when Mrs. Naná entered the conversation.
​
She turned to her husband with the serenity of someone who sees the obvious before everyone else.
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— Tupy, from all indications, Mary is already taking the course. And Mery has dreamed of this since she was a child. Let them both take the course together. It's as simple as that.
​
The colonel ran his hand over his face. He took a deep breath. Drank more water. Then, with a half-incredulous smile, he said:
​
— Mery, my dear… I really don't understand why you insist on jumping out of a perfectly good airplane! I would never do that, not even if they paid me a million dollars.
​​
I smiled. I was radiant.
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— Colonel Tupy Caldas — I said, almost solemnly — please, call the instructors and let them know that they now have another Mery in the course.
​
He stared at me for a few seconds. Then, he shook his head, resigned — not to logic, but to the courage I seemed to possess.
​
Shortly after, I was already at the barracks.
​
Sergeant D'Silva was waiting for me. He looked me up and down and gave a wry smile.
​
— "Women really do rule the world," — he commented.
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— "That shouldn't bother you, sir," I replied, without missing a beat.
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He raised his hands, laughing:
​
— "Oh, no, no, no… Not at all. It doesn't bother me in the least."
​
And it was there, amidst suspicious glances, suppressed laughter, and improbable decisions, that I understood a fundamental thing:
​
Before jumping out of an airplane,
You have to jump over other people's certainties.
​
And I was ready. 🪂✨
As we walked across a spacious courtyard, curious military men strained to get a glimpse of us. They murmured among themselves while watching us.
Sarg. D'Silva led me to the hall where the parachuting course was. I didn't know anyone in the room except Maria. When she saw me, she didn't try to hide her expression of admiration.
The course lasted five days, from Monday to Friday, and included several theoretical classes covering the knowledge required to pack both the main and reserve parachutes. Intense physical exercises, such as squats, push-ups, forced walking, and running, were a constant part of the training. Throughout the week, there were numerous training sessions on exiting the airplane, as well as extensive parachute navigation and landing exercises. As expected, I experienced pain and bruises all over my body. But all of these were essential for preparing me for the day of the jumps.
At 6:00 AM on Saturday, we arrived at the scheduled location, at the airport of Teresina, Senador Petrônio Portella. However, an unexpected event occurred when heavy rain was announced. I thought indignantly: "It hasn't rained in the city of Teresina for 300 years, and now it's going to rain? Oh, Jesus Christ!"
The Military Police management quickly contacted the administration of Caxias Municipal Aerodrome in Maranhão, the next-door state, which is located 70 km away. We ended up spending two days jumping in Caxias, where the weather was terrific!
My first jump?? It was a comedy! Things usually happen only to me:
T-10 military equipment ​​was widely used at the time. It seemed no one had made gear for women. At 5.4 and 100 pounds, I was too small for any equipment.
I was in the first load and was the first one to jump out. We took off in a Cessna 185 without a door. It was my first time flying in an airplane. Sitting on the plane's floor, on the pilot's right side, with my back to the aircraft's instrument panel, I looked down, admiring the immensity of the forest areas with the babassu palm trees of Maranhão. - My home state.For someone who had never been on a plane, taking off sitting at the door opening of an airplane without a door seemed a little scary. I didn't even think about giving up for a second. I dreamed for many years that one day I would fly.
We arrived at the jump altitude. The pilot received guidance from the jump instructor, Eduardo. The noise of the Cessna's engine and the strong wind made communication difficult. The instructor shouted to the pilot: “AIRPLANE ON FINAL ROUTE.” Eduardo took my hand, looked straight into my eyes, and said out loud. "MERY, OFF THE PLANE." Sitting at the door, with my feet on the plane's footboard, I held on tightly to the upright (aircraft support, located below the wing) and pulled myself out of the plane with both hands. The wind was very strong. Because the equipment was very loose on my body, I felt it had remained inside the plane when I got up.
As I positioned myself well outside the plane, I looked at Eduardo. Smiling, he gave me a thumbs-up and shouted, "READY, SET, GO." I took a deep breath, released my hands, and threw myself backward. I felt my body flying out of the plane exit, witnessing the pilot smiling at me and Eduardo sending out kisses.
Hollywood missed the big picture. What a spectacular exit! Skydiving is one of the most extraordinary things in the world. It's a deep internal sensation that immediately evokes a strong emotional reaction between the body and mind.
Life Has These Things!
The skydiving equipment was very big and loose on my body. When the T-10 parachute opened, the reserve parachute, which had been positioned at stomach height before, moved to below my chin, pushing my head back.
This restricted my visibility, and I could only look down from the corner of my eyes, over the top of my shoulders. The toggles (brakes) for steering the parachute were located high up on the risers - support rods of the parachute lines, and were far too high, making them unreachable for me.
Due to the limited visibility and inability to steer the parachute, poor Mery was gone with the wind!
I forgot about the unexpected and undesirable problems and enjoyed that unique moment. Silence enveloped me as I looked up and admired my beautiful parachute! It was a lovely sunny day, and the sky sparkled like a diamond.
I felt euphoric as if I were tipsy. It's not about feeling tipsy or buzzed; it's about feeling truly alive, empowered, and charmed, like a magical feeling of being on top of the world, flying, literally, in the clouds!
Finally, I was realizing my long-awaited dream of flying! "Where did I find the courage to jump out of that Cessna?! " I asked myself... "Jumping out of a perfectly good plane," as Col. Tupy Caldas said.
It was an incredible experience to be involved in that silence immersed —just me and my parachute, far from everything and everyone, soaring above the world in an expansive open sky that sparkled like a crystal in the sunlight. I couldn't help but imagine what life down there would be like at that exact moment. With a radiant smile, I felt like a cherished child of God who loved me deeply.
Even if I tried to use every word in the world, I still wouldn't be able to describe the feeling of this moment! It's a unique feeling, only those who take the jump can truly understand it. It's a personal feeling; you just can't put it into words! It's incredibly exhilarating! This is why I invite everyone to visit my site MeryRose.com to book your first jump! It'll be the most incredible moment in your lifetime!
Trying to steer my parachute pulling one of the risers. (The risers connect the parachute harness to the lines.) The risers of this older style of parachute are quite heavy, and my attempt was unsuccessful.
In our training, we were taught that once the T-10 parachute opened, we could disconnect one side of the carabiner connector from the reserve parachute, allowing it to hang next to my body. However, I had difficulty disconnecting it, so I pushed the reserve forward and looked down through the gap between my body and the reserve to see the ground beneath my feet.
Oh my God! I'm already flying low. Whatever God wants to do, it's time for me to prepare myself to do a good landing, like I learned in the class days. I said to myself screaming out loud.
"MERY, MY DAUGHTER, BE CAREFUL WITH LANDING."
The landing was into a clearing within a wild forest next to the airport. The ventral reserve had left a cut on my chin, and my helmet was now a barrier to my vision. As I struggled to remove it, a noise nearby startled me. I lifted the helmet to find myself unexpectedly face to face with an elderly man, his donkey laden with goods. The sight was so unexpected, it took me a moment to process. The man appeared visibly frightened, with a pale face and trembling all over. I got up, placed my helmet on the ground, and conversed with him to calm him down.
"Sir, I don't even know where I am. How am I going to get out of here?" I said. His reaction was immediate: "My God, it's a woman!" He quickly walked away from me, jumping backward and muttering something. "I understood everything you said," he said, stuttering and babbling. Still very scared, he continued, "You have just arrived in the city of Caxias, in the interior of Maranhão, in Brazil." He provided detailed information about my location.
Wow, how cool! I exclaimed. "What's your name?" I asked. "My name is Flores," he replied. "A welcome reception by Mr. Flores!" I cheered, and he smiled sheepishly.
I remembered a phrase a friend said to me when I told him I dreamed of being a skydiver: "Men have always been afraid of women who fly." I started laughing, remembering the funny phrase. Mr. Flores, looking at me laughing, didn't understand anything and became more scared.
Fires in the forest were common in the region at that time. My parachute, my jumpsuit, my hands, and my face were completely covered in black coal dust. Looking at me, Mr. Flores still moved further away. Flores still moved further away.
He continued to mumble quietly to himself. Then, from far away, he spoke to me again: "I saw when you arrived. When you fell to the ground, it made a huge noise. It was a boom, like thunder. The earth even shook." He said this was very surprising and scary.
Where do you come from? He asked with curiosity.
"Mr. Flores, you won’t believe what I just did! A few minutes ago, I took off on a small Cessna airplane right here at the Caxias airport. - I just made my very first parachute jump! Yhuuuuummm.... I was screaming, commemorated.
“YOU DID WHAT?” he exclaimed, clearly taken aback and confused.
I took off in the airplane and, once I reached 1,200 meters in altitude, I opened the door and jumped from it. My parachute deployed perfectly, and for a few exhilarating minutes, I soared high in open skies. Now, here I am, alive and overjoyed, sharing this incredible moment with you!
“AND IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE?” he asked, his surprise palpable.
“Mr. Flores, I just accomplished something that you, and indeed the rest of humanity, may never fully comprehend,” I responded, half-jokingly, trying to spill over the adrenaline still coursing hot through my veins..
Just then, a police jeep rolled up, carrying two soldiers from the rescue team. Their relief was evident as they saw me safe and sound, and they greeted me with smiles. I took the opportunity to introduce Mr. Flores to them.
One of the soldiers picked up the jeep's radio to contact the instructors at the drop zone, at the airport. “Mery, we need you to return to the drop zone as soon as possible. The pilot is here on my side, eagerly waiting to take off with you again. He and I both like your exit very much. Your exit was spectacular, incredible! We never saw anything like it!” said Eduardo, his excitement infectious.
When I got back to the drop zone, I had never been so welcome in my entire life. The instructors opened the metal toolbox that I had nicknamed "Jewel Chest" at the start of our classes. The box contained all the necessary tools for maintaining our parachutes. They adjusted my equipment by lowering the brakes and making my parachute harness more comfortable.
I did my second jump that afternoon and two more the next day. I successfully landed on the target in my last three jumps, securing my first title, bestowed upon me by my instructors and jumping peers: "World individual accuracy champion."
We all completed four jumps in two days. Everything occurred without incident or disturbance. Afterward, we returned to Teresina in military vehicles. That night, we won a big surprise party at the Hotel Piauí party room, where we received our certificates from the military authorities. Food and drinks were served to the distinguished guests and the Parachutist Heroes until dawn. The 20 soldier-skydivers, Maria, I, the two instructors, and the pilots welcomed Commander CTC for a big photo. Maria and I didn't become friends, but we grew closer. When the party ended at 6:00 am., I was drained, exhausted, but thrilled.
Soon after my first jumps, I became interested in classic parachuting competitions—style and accuracy, the only two existing at the time.
At that time, Brazilians' lives were complicated. The Military Dictatorship was a political regime led by the Brazilian Armed Forces that lasted from 1964 to 1985, spanning 21 years. This period coincided with the rise of the female empowerment movement in Brazil, which refers to a woman's ability to control various aspects of her life, including financial, emotional, social, political, gender, educational, sporting, and physical dimensions. The female participation in the Armed Forces in Brazil only became possible in the 1980s.
In 1974, in the history of Brazilian parachuting, it was not even considered that a 19-year-old woman could join a military parachuting course, approaching the Commander of the Military Police to authorize her participation in a course in a barracks with more than a thousand men. Nowadays, I have the dimension of tenderness I had to fulfill the dream I had of flying since I was a child when I played with the birds in Castelo-Sítio.
I was ahead of my time in many ways without knowing it. Fulfilling a big dream at 19 is like being born again into a full life. When I was five years old, I dreamed of flying like a bird, just like a Marvel comic book character. At the age of 8, when I discovered parachute jumping after watching a television program about the Parachute Infantry Regiment, I told myself I would fly when I grew up.
In 1975, I relocated to Brasilia, the federal capital, after successfully competing for a position as a federal public servant at ELETRONORTE—North Power Stations.
That same year, I was one of the founders of the first skydiving club in Brasília, the "Skydiving Club of Brasília's Aeroclub," located in Luziana, near Brasília. Our club got a few hours of flight time on military planes, and we had fun jumping for free at Bandeirantes, Buffalo, and/or Hercules on the weekends. As the only woman in the group, I became the 'news girl' for the Club, working with the local press to recruit members for the first skydiving course of our new club. I quickly became known among the more than 2,000 employees of Eletronorte and in the more than 20 ministries of the federal capital.
Historic Jump.
This jump holds a special place at the beginning of my skydiving journey; at 22 years old, I celebrated my 20th jump and realized my first free-fall. I passed the “A” license test, and I recorded an unprecedented fact in the history of Brazilian female skydiving, as I became the first woman to jump with a ram-air "square" parachute in Brazil.
The Strato Cloud parachute was manufactured by Para Flite in the USA that same year. It became the prevailing accuracy parachute in the market, replacing the T-10 parachute in world competitions. The Strato Star, a 5-cell accuracy parachute, and the PC and Papillon round parachutes also gradually faded from skydiving championships. From then on, it seemed like the gold rush - everyone was buying a Strato Cloud.
Small Containers: Strato Star - Small and light Containers:
With its mere five cells, the Strato Star parachute was a game-changer in the global industry, delighting everyone with its lightweight and compact design. When the Strat Cloud 7-Cells was introduced, the Strat Star not only left the market but also set the standard for a significantly smaller container size. This shift in size requirements meant that any competing products would need to fit into a Strato Star-sized container to have any chance of making sales.
At the time, I always had problems with equipment that was too loose on my body. As I have a small stature, at the beginning of the 80s, I bought my Parafoil-252 with a custom-made container. With the comfort of the container adjusted and the perfect canopy size, my jumps, both in terms of accuracy and style, began to show great technical evolution.
PARAFOILL - 1982
I Love my Parachutes!
I have been using the Classic parachute for over 30 years.
Stay tuned for the next ...
All Rights Reserved | Mery Rose 2003
