Return to Six Flags

This Saturday we went to “Hurricane Harbor,” the water park at Six Flags. Our last visit to this so-called “amusement” park tested my mettle. I staggered through the fiery crucible and emerged with a new awareness of what I am capable of…a better understanding of who I truly am as a human being.

In a world full of thrill-seekers and adrenaline junkies, I’m a chill-seeker and a “settle-in junkie.”

Some people have nerves of steel. I have nerves of overcooked spaghetti. There are lots of tough cookies in the world…I’m more like a meringue. Badass? More like Squishyass. Man or a mouse? Is there a third option? Because I’m terrified of mice. You get the picture.

If nothing else came of that first experience at Six Flags, at least I learned my lesson. I couldn’t dissuade my daughter from revisiting the park for her birthday celebration, but I could arm myself with knowledge. This time around, I studied the Six Flags website harder than I studied for my doctoral comprehensive exams. I memorized the “Family Rides” and “Kids Rides” lists. I even studied the “Thrill Rides” list in order to avoid any nasty surprises. I ordered a “Luxury Package” cabana, which promised food and beverage wait service, a TV, inner tubes, beach towels, cold beverages, and a pizza.

Are you envisioning me reclining languidly in my lounge chair by the wave pool as scantily-clad cabana boys waved pond fronds and proffered me grapes? I was too.

The luxury cabana was a ratty brown polyester tent that was stifling hot. After our first session in the wave pool, it was clear that there would be no relaxation or lazing about at all that day. Imagine a seething scrum of humanity interspersed with giant, view-blocking inner tubes. Imagine a phalanx of teenage lifeguards stationed every ten feet at the edge of the pool. The whistles never left their lips, because they would have to blow them at least every ten seconds or so. (I am now convinced that this must be The Worst Job In the World. The stress of it would put me in an early grave). Imagine me and my husband in the wave pool, constantly scanning the horizon and counting over and over again, trying to keep track of the six children for whom we were responsible – our own and the cherished offspring of our friends. At one point I saw my husband lifting a kid I didn’t recognize out of the water and walking him to the shallow end. Later I learned that he had been clinging to my daughter, shouting, “Help! I can’t float!” I had assumed she was in an inner tube at the time, but she informed me that she hadn’t been. “He was pulling me under! I thought he was going to drown me. I could barely support his weight!”

Clearly it was time to check out the other “attractions.” I gamely followed our group, acting as chaperone and Sherpa. My twelve-year old son, who shares my risk-aversive nature, trailed along beside me:

The other kids amazed me by their willingness to go on rides that were so hair-raising, I would have to avert my gaze as we walked past them. Every once in a while, my sidekick would venture to do something like the “Lazy River,”or he’d splash happily alongside the toddlers at Buccaneer Beach:

I was thoroughly exhausted, but elated when we returned to Charlottesville safe and sound on Saturday night. Everyone had a good time and best of all: no one died. I call that a good day.

We were a little sad that our 14-year old had to miss out on the fun. He is spending the week in Vermont with his friend:

The very next day 24 people got stranded at the top of The Joker’s Jinx, a very scary ride that my older son had forced my 12-year old to go on with him on our first trip to Six Flags:

Aftermath of Joker’s Jinx:

I called my 12-year old downstairs to look at the headline:

His eyes grew wide as he read the breaking story. He covered his mouth in shock, and he turned white as a sheet.

We decided we had to share the news with his older brother:

 

Sometimes it’s hard to believe that these two people are even related…

P.S. Eventually, everyone was safely rescued from the ride.

P.P.S. As we were driving home, my daughter said, “We should do this again when we’re all 16!” Her little friend replied, “Yeah, but we’ll go by ourselves. By then I’ll be able to drive, and I’ll take us there.”

Oh dear Lord, will the thrills never end?!

Six Flags

Yesterday I wrote about being trapped on a paddle-boat in the Tidal Basin with one crabby, one cantankerous, and one ailing kid as being a sort of existential hell.

In fact, the real hell on earth is any amusement park. I’ve always hated amusement parks, even as a child. I’ve gone out of my way to avoid them for all these years. I’m not quite sure what madness gripped me when I bought tickets to Six Flags for me and the three kids. I tried to convince my friend and my sister to come with us. My friend very politely declined. “Oh wow! Saturday? Ummm… Oh, SHOOT! That’s the day I clip my toenails. Otherwise…” My sister was far more blunt. She laughed in my face and said, “Six Flags? Oh thanks, but I’d rather douse myself in gasoline and set myself on fire. I’d rather bash in my own kneecaps with a baseball bat. I’d rather gouge my own eyeballs out with a melon baller.”

I totally understand these reactions. Life is scary and unpredictable enough as it is. I honestly don’t understand what possesses people (ME!) to actually pay a lot of money to do things like this to themselves:

In my case, it’s stupidity, plain and simple.

For example, I agreed to go on a roller coaster called “Apocalypse.”

“What did you do that for?” my husband asked incredulously, when I told him about it afterwards.

“Well, I didn’t see what it was going to be like until I actually did it,” I answered defensively.

“Did the name Apocalypse not give you a hint?!”

I lost some IQ points on that ride for sure. How bitterly I regret letting the kids ride that roller coaster before they even got a chance to take their PSATs! It felt like being flung violently down ten flights of stairs. And then being pummeled by a band of rabid gorillas at the bottom of the stairs. We were rattled about so hard that it felt like we were being punched repeatedly in the head by the so-called “headrests.” My legs were shaking as I staggered off the ride. I was sore for days afterwards. I resolved not to do any more scary rides.

By this time, we were all probably suffering from concussions and weren’t in our right minds, which would explain why the boys decided to go on “The Joker’s Jinx” roller coaster next. Once again, we failed to watch the ride first to see what it entailed. This nasty roller coaster starts by hurtling you right out of the gate with an acceleration from 0 to 60 mph in three seconds. After that, there are all kinds of loops and spins.

My son assured me that it was far worse than the Apocalypse. Here they are, returning after their ride.

Let’s zoom in, shall we?

We decided to regroup and be kinder to ourselves. The kids rode the bumper cars and then a gentle ride called “Pirate’s Flight.”

My oldest kept trying to persuade his little brother to go on more rides with him with names like “Mind Eraser.” Being an obliging sort of person, he would agree. Obliging, not stupid. By this time, he had learned his lesson. We would go check it out, he would take one look, and then turn right back around.

Photo by Coasterman1234 at en.wikipedia

Finally we saw a ride that looked like we could all handle it. It had cute cows with rhinestone collars. No need to watch the ride in action. What could be more benign than cute cows wearing jewelry? The boys settled into one cow and my daughter and I into another. And then this happened:

(Watch at your own peril).

It was truly awful. We staggered off the ride clutching our heads and bellies. We all had to sit down in stunned silence to recover from the horror. Everyone agreed that this was the worst ride of them all.

In the end, my teenager did manage to badger the eleven year old into going on one more roller coaster with him called “The Wild One”:

That was enough for us all:

The next morning the eleven year old said wonderingly, “I can’t believe I went on all of those rides.”

“Did you enjoy any of them?” I asked.

“No. Not really,” he said.

“So you probably wouldn’t ever want to go back?” I asked.

“Of course I would!” he answered promptly.

“But WHY?”

“Because it’s so awesome when the ride is over. You feel so relieved.”

Here’s the real punch line, my friends: I bought season tickets.