Love Rollercoasters

Life is a wild ride, eh?

With my younger child crossing thresholds like they’re going out of style, the stark realization that my kids are growing up is staring me in the face. Not to sound cynical, as I’m having the time of my life, but some of these firsts are the last firsts for me. No matter how many people told me to enjoy it because it goes fast, I had no appreciation for just how fast it goes. You can’t, even when it’s staring you down.

He scored his first lacrosse goal a couple of months ago, and I cried tears of joy for him because he worked so hard and did it mostly without my help. Like teaching a kid to ride a bike, you stay to support them until they just…figure it out. That’s really all we can do as parents.

Yesterday I took him on his first hypercoaster while his older sister went off with her friends. It wasn’t long ago that I took her on her first big coaster. The day after that event—now 4 years ago—I wrote the piece below. And I’m so glad I did, because some of these details had been lost in time. So, if you’re a writer and you have kids or something you want to remember, write it down. Put your fucking phone down and be in your life. Make a moment, look them in the eyes, and write a story about it. Write it all down, because you will forget most of the mundane, amazing moments that make life rich.

I won’t forget this one. Here’s the story:

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My daughter is nine years old. She seems too little to want to do crazy things, but she’s growing quickly and wants to try stuff. She has some emotional challenges that we’re working through, and I know about them because she’s like I was as a kid, but, like, way worse. I think. Kids are weird, man. They rewrite their own manuals every day.

We went to the school picnic yesterday. The biggest, baddest roller coaster at Kennywood Park near Pittsburgh, PA, is called Phantom’s Revenge. It’s actually the tamed-down version of the coaster called The Steel Phantom that was absolutely brutal. It was too loud, too rough, and too wild. It was originally built in 1991 and revamped ten years later to calm it down.

The first time I ever rode it was in the late 1900s. My girlfriend at the time loved coasters and wanted me to go with her. I resisted for a long time but did eventually ride it with her. Or I did it for me because I didn’t want to be called a pussy. Whatever. Let’s just say I did it for love.

For anyone keeping track, the 90s were like thirty years ago. I still feel pretty young, but thirty years is lots of miles on the old odometer. And even though they tamed the coaster, the first two hills were the same, and the bloody thing still goes 85mph. They took a bunch of the loops and inversions out because they were too rough for people, but it’s still a mean coaster.

My daughter looks up at this now-purple steel beast and says, “I wanna ride that. Can I?”

My wife and I looked at each other, playing a mental game of rock, paper, scissors with our eyes. One of us was going to Kiddieland with the little guy, and the other was going to try to tackle the steel neck injury. Pick your poison.

I won. Or lost. We’ll see.

My daughter and I walk towards the line for the thing. I can feel her trepidation growing, and she starts to warn me that she may chicken out.

“Look, Kiddo, I’m kind of afraid of this, too. So let’s help each other, we’ll face our fears and do it together.” She agrees. (Edit: She is now helping me with this piece and swears she DID NOT agree.) Onward we go, hand in hand.

As we get closer and closer, her anxiety grows to new and impressive levels. Soon, we are up next, and she is freaking the fuck out. Honestly, I want to bail, too, as I don’t want to make her do something she doesn’t really want to do, but it's go-time. We are in this together.

The gate opens. We crouch down into the seats. We buckle in. The bar comes down. It’s tight because I guess the park doesn’t want bodies splattered on the concrete.

We begin the ascent. She’s losing her mind more and more. Luckily, the bar is so tight to her legs she can’t squirm out, because the higher we go, the more she tries slithering down into the car. I have no idea where she thinks she’s going, but I don’t think she does either.

I try to distract her. “Hey, look, I think I see our car down there.” She doesn’t care, as she is busy hyperventilating.

(To all you judgy parents out there: If you don’t do something to necessitate therapy for your kids someday, are you even a parent?)

We reach the peak, and it is FUCKING HIGH. Like, higher than a Cheech and Chong movie starring Willie Nelson, Snoop Dogg, Wiz Khalifa, and Seth Rogan. The chain quiets, and we begin to twist and fall. The first hill is steep, but it’s the second hill that really gets you. It feels like the kind of hill that has no bottom. We drop down under a wooden coaster, going 85mph, and duck instinctively. Then the thing starts to throw us around.

I wonder how she’s doing over there.

“I HATE IT!!! I HATE IT!!! IIII HHHAAATTTTTEEEE IIIIIITTTTT!!!!!!!”

I laughed maniacally and patted her leg. Not much I could do about it now. I laughed as much at her as I did at the fun I was having, ruining all my neck muscles.

“III HHHAAATTTTEEE ITTTTT!”

Another couple of seconds of airtime. A pause.

“OKAY, I’M STARTING TO LIKE IT!!!!”

She smiles and laughs, realizing it’s not going to kill her.

Aaaaaand we pull into the station.

I was so proud of her. We faced our fears and did something I really didn’t think we’d do. And I will absolutely remember it forever, if only for the way she screamed “I HATE IT!” for most of the ride.

I’m still laughing about it. “I HATE IT!!!!” Every time we drive by, I’m going to ask her how much she loved it.

From the line of the coaster before her first ride.

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When I reminded her of this story, she denied most of this account, even though she helped me write it.

It pays to be a writer.