Today, Mountain Melodies would like to wish a very happy birthday to Bob Potzer, one of our first supporters when we were founded in 2021. Robert (Bob) Arthur Potzer is our founder’s, Pamela Potzer’s, father. So from here on out, he will be referred to as “Dad.” Pamela would like to write an article celebrating the ways he supported the creation of Mountain Melodies, LLC
Nerdy Books and Jumping Out of Planes
I always remember being a “daddy’s girl” growing up. I used to think it was because I wanted to be just like my dad. I now realize it’s that I wanted to grow up to be just like my mom and find a husband that supported me the way Dad supported me, my sisters, and my mom.
Some of my first memories of my dad are learning to read Dr. Seuss books with him, and going to the drop zone to watch him jump out of airplanes. I give credit to Dad for developing my love of books. He thought it would be fun to read an 8 year-old J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit. I vividly remember in 6th grade telling Dad I was going to read the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy, and I will never forget what he said to me, “I am jealous. I wish I could go back and read the series again for the very first time.” That comment made me wonder at what was so powerful about these books, and I quickly learned the amazing feeling of being lost in a really good book.
Dad also taught me the importance of conquering fears to experience something extraordinary. When I was four years old, Dad took me to the city pool and pointed at the high-dive. “You can do that, Pam. It’s really easy. I’ll show you,” and he jumped right off the diving board. I remember the feeling of climbing up the ladder, and looking down and what seemed like 20 stories below me. But I thought, “Well, Dad didn’t die. I’ll be fine,” and off I went. I remember Dad beaming as I swam to him, and making a big deal out of doing something hard, and kind of scary, for a four-year-old. And I remember the feeling of accomplishment that I did that.
When I was five years old, my little sister, Mom, and Dad went to the Royal Gorge bridge and park. We got to the other side of the bridge, and Dad pointed at the sky coaster and said, “Pam, you can do that.” Almost the exact same situation as the high-dive at the pool, but this time it was a ride that I noticed adults were not getting on, as they were saying it right in front of me. But, Dad said it was safe, so I got on the smallest harness they had and got strapped up with my dad. I did make him pull the chord though, because it was so high and I was pretty scared. But I had the same thoughts as when I was on the diving board, “Dad says it’s fine, and he seems fine. So it must be fine.” I still made him pull the rip cord that released us, even though he tried to get me to pull it. I felt like I was flying over the Royal Gorge, like Peter Pan over London.
In terms of skydiving, I have fond early memories of going to Dad’s drop zone where he would teach people how to stay alive jumping out of airplanes. From as far back as I can remember, I would tell my parents that someday when I go to college I would jump out of airplanes just like them. Their response was always, “it’s really expensive, you shouldn’t get into it.” I just think it hit them a little different that their baby wanted to jump out of a perfectly good airplane. But I remembered the feeling of the high-dive, and the Royal Gorge sky coaster. And I wanted to feel that feeling again. I figured I could just do what I watched Dad do, just like in those two memories from my early childhood.
When the day finally came, and I booked my first course in Accelerated Free Fall school in September of 2018, I called up Dad and asked if he would come watch me jump. Knowing he was not going to stop me, he booked some time at the iFly tunnel in Denver to teach me how to actually control my body in freefall. Just like he would teach his students back when I was a toddler. He also coached me the entire hour and a half drive to the drop zone to tell me how to not land on anything that has a straight line (like fences), or to look at indicators like flags telling you what the wind was doing, how to know when to flare, and other important things to know if you happen to not be in the drop zone area. Well, those days you had a radio strapped to you to be coached in real time for your first landing, so I figured all this advice was a little overkill.
Well, that first jump, I wound up having a malfunction, needed to use my back-up canopy (called a reserve). Additionally, because I was so far away from the drop zone I had to land, by myself, in a farmer’s field. Thank God Dad took the time to coach me on that drive! Unfortunately, I had no way to communicate with my AFF coaches, or anybody, where I was or that I was even alive. I had to wait for some farmers to drive past me so I could hitch-hike back to the hanger. All this time, my poor dad thought the worst…that maybe his daughter just “bounced.” When I came back, I walked up to my dad with my white reserve canopy, and he asked me to hold out my hand. I was royally confused, but did as he asked. Turns out, he just wanted to see if I was shaking from the experience. When he saw my hand perfectly still, that’s when he knew it was ok that I could be a skydiver, that I could handle an emergency while falling from the sky, and wouldn’t freeze under pressure.
A few of my buddies from the CSU skydiver’s club wanted to hang out afterwards, but I was perfectly content just going home with my dad. I will never forget the drive back, Dad beaming at me, and treating me like his equal in the sport I had grown up watching him do, even though I only had one jump logged. For those of you who are skydivers reading this, I will say I only stayed in the sport for about 68 jumps until life took me a different direction. For me, it was never about the number of jumps, getting to be really good at head-down flying, or becoming a tandem instructor; it was always about wondering what it was that drove my parents to jump out of a perfectly good airplane, and being able to do what they did.
Dad, My First Ski Instructor
As soon as I could walk, Mom and Dad strapped a pair of skis on me. Dad would spend days with me teaching me how to slide on snow, and to look like Stein Erikson. He also worked through the massive tantrums when I was over it, and once carried me all the way down School Marm at Keystone. Skiing with my dad was one of my favorite things to do growing up. I can still play out the whole ski day in my mind. We would wake up at 5:00 am with him and my Uncle Greg ready to go. My sisters and I would take every stuffed animal imaginable to play with on the drive. We would stop by McDonald’s in Idaho Springs and get their disgusting hash browns, then drive up Loveland Pass, and find a beach spot at A-Basin if we were early enough (this was before you had to pay to park there), and then get ready for the day. We would spend all day skiing at the Molly Hogan chairlift, grilling hot dogs at the beach, and my sisters and I would play with our many stuffed animals and drink hot chocolate after a long ski day. And then on the way back home to Aurora, CO, we would listen to Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits CD. My favorite song was Rainy Day Women #12 & 35. One day he skipped the song, and I asked why. His response, “Your mother doesn’t want you listening to that song.” I later learned it was because I was going around as a five year old singing, “EVERYBODY MUST GET STONED.” Not appropriate for a kindergarten student!
Dad was my only ski instructor up until I accepted a job at the National Sports Center for the Disabled and started getting skiing tips from Professional Ski Instructors of America (PSIA) examiners. He is the reason I knew all the basics of skiing, and I used those basics throughout my employment in the ski industry. The day I got my assigned ski patrol coat, I immediately sent a picture to Dad. I don’t think he or I ever thought I would be in a position to accept a job being a ski patroller. I never would have been able to if Dad did not take the many years to help me discover the pure joy in skiing.
Dad And Music
Another neat thing about Dad is that he has always loved music. From a very young age, he would have Bach, Mozart, Tchaikovsky (all the greats) playing in the background while we would read, or play chess, or just hang out in the family room. In third grade, I came home and told him and Mom that I would really like to join the after school recorder club. Dad was thrilled and took this opportunity to foster my love for music. He went out and bought a Classical Music for the Recorder book, so once I finished learning “Mary had a Little Lamb” and “Twinkle Twinkle,” he had me learn Pastime with Good Company by Henry VIII. And that is what I played at my third grade recorder recital.
In fourth grade I transferred schools that had a music program where fourth graders could start learning concert instruments before school. Dad forced me to join and pick an instrument, even though I was perfectly content with my recorder. When I choose the flute, I would get frustrated that I could not make a sound with it. Dad had me keep trying and would not let me give up. He gave me an empty beer bottle and said, “here, practice directing your air with this.” And that was how I first learned the proper flute embouchure.
Dad (and Mom!) attended every single one of my band performances all the way through my college years. They always made sacrifices to make sure I had the tools I needed to be successful in my chosen career in music therapy. When I was 15 years old, I told them I wanted to be a music therapist, and I needed a guitar to do that (I had never played guitar before in my life). Dad spent months researching guitars that would fit my needs, and that Christmas I got my Alvarez guitar. The same guitar I would use all the way through my years as a music therapy student, and the same guitar I took with me on the ski hill. When I was told I needed to drop $5,000 on a flute in order for me to have what I needed to succeed in the music therapy program, Mom and Dad did not hesitate to help me. Dad even came with me to different flute showings to make sure I found the right one. And they didn’t disown me as a daughter when I misplaced that flute for a whole day (one of the most stressful days of my life). When I started Mountain Melodies Music Therapy, LLC, Mom and Dad gifted me my first inventory of instruments for my practice, including my first ever acoustic electric guitar along with an amp and microphone. Even when they did not understand my profession, or how exactly I was going to make this work, they still supported me in any way they could.
Happy Birthday Dad!!
In summary, if you take a look at growing up with my dad, there really should be no surprise in how I turned out. I love to read, because he taught me the beauty of a really well-written book. I love to ski, because Dad taught me how much fun it is. I love the thrill of accomplishing or doing something hard, because Dad taught me those experiences are what will stick with me for the rest of my life. That is why it is really hard for me to not always be looking forward to learn the next really cool skillset.
Dad once told me after a basketball game where I felt really defeated this: “Pam. Things are going to be hard. But the thing is, if the thing you are trying to do is easy, then everyone would do it. If everyone is doing it, it’s not very special anymore. So, if it’s hard to do, it’s worth the hard work and effort.” And that has been my motto when I pushed through my undergraduate program, when I became a river guide, when I jumped out of airplanes, when I took seven PSIA exams in three years, when I took the job of being a ski patroller, when I started Mountain Melodies Music Therapy the same week I passed my Certification Board for Music Therapists exam, and when I finally decided to begin the journey to pursue a graduate degree. Dad taught me from day 1 that I can do hard things, and those things will be worth the effort.
Thanks for being one of my first supporters (along with Mom) in every dream I chased, Dad. Mountain Melodies, LLC would have never existed without your efforts in raising me.
Love your daughter,
Pam
mountainmelodiestherapy.com 