Once More for the Thrills

[Note: This piece was inspired by "Once More to the Lake" (APE).]

When you're eight years old standing in front of a tall, wooden contraption with dips and turns and dark tunnels that plummets a cart full of people through the woods…you might be a little scared. If you could hear the screams of people echoing or the screeching of the animal noises being played over the speakers in line…you might be nervous. If you could read the signs that said, “No one escapes The Beast” with makeshift claw marks though the material…you might be suspicious. That day, I was none of those things.

In my experience, even at such a young age, my dad had always been right. If he said rollercosters were awesome, I believed him. And if he said the brown, rickety pole wouldn't snap, I believed him. If he said the torn up, orange latch that barely grazed my jean shorts would keep me locked in, I believed him. If he said that once we got over the first hill I would never want the ride to end, I would believe him. As we went up the first hill of my first rollercaster ride I shut my eyes as he put his hands up in the air. Then - 

We dropped. And he was right…I never wanted it to end.

* * * *

We've explored rollercosters at various amusement parks all over the country now. Kings Island was a family favorite, Six Flags; Magic Mountain in California held hidden gems and the Rock 'n' Rollercoaster starring Areosmith at Disney Studios in Florida is one of the greatest. I thought the rides would honestly never end, and that my dad would experience the good, bad and thrilling with me forever. It didn't occur to me after his back surgery a few years later that this might not be the case.

One more year of college left and we were finally taking a family vacation to Cedar Point – an easy one, but a happy one as always. If you’ve ever experienced Cedar Point, there is a rollercoaster there that tops them all: Top Thrill Dragster. Standing at 427 feet, its red, yellow, black and white attire dresses it up as a racetrack. But my dad, sisters and I know better: this is the mother of all coasters. Taking off the platform at 120 mph, it’s up-and-over one, huge, hill – and there’s no turning back.

This visit wasn’t the first time we rode the Dragster, but as we stood in line for an hour or so, I could tell my dad wasn’t as thrilled as usual. After riding the another infamous coaster that morning he hadn’t felt so great and had to sit out on the next couple of rides, leaving as the one that got my sisters excited. Then he said something that I wasn’t ready for: 

“This might be my last one of the day, girls.”

They nodded their heads, but my stomach dropped. Somehow I thought this might mean his last ride ever. The man that had measured me to ride these rollercoasters with him since I could stand, that had stuffed tissues in my younger sisters gym shoes so she could start riding with us, the man that feared nothing might have his last ride. 

As we neared the front of the lines, one of my sisters asked what order we should sit in the cart. Before she finished her sentence, I said “I’m sitting with Dad.” He smiled at me and squeezed my shoulder. And after we climbed into the cart, buckled up, and waited to soar to the sky I looked over and saw him put his hands up. I smiled and did the same.

And up we went.