Little Boy. Large Rollercoaster

Having been a participant in the story I’m about to share with you, and having come away from it alive, at that time in my life I might have admonished anyone who would listen,
…“if this is all there is to family fun, you need to avoid it at all costs!”
For on a given day, month and year, my dad and mom packed me into the family automobile, (I can’t tell you the make or model this far along) and off we went. Had I any inkling what “lay in wait” for me, I would have definitely avoided that excursion in favor of something a bit more mundane.
I can imagine my response when my mother made me aware of the “golden opportunity” which lay ahead of me that day.
“Mommie, where we be goin? Daddy plomised me a I-creme cone, if I be good.”
To which she may have replied.
“Yes, he told me. We’ll pick it up on our way home, Royce… if you’re good. But if you’re not, then…”
Well, I guess we drove 5-6 miles, and pulled into a busy parking lot. I looked around, and then upward. We were surrounded by tall buildings, and I could smell the salt air. It turns out daddy had laid a roof on one of these massive structures, and had discovered a little known attraction; at least little known in our little corner of the world.
“Royce,” daddy spoke. “We’re gonna do something super fun today. Look up at the top of that building,” (and I followed his finger to the sky.)
“Son, watch this.”
I strained to see what my dad was referring to. Suddenly I saw it. A flash of orange and green color moving like a swift caterpillar along the edge of the roof. And then it was gone, but the noisy clatter continued and cut the surrounding air like a razor. Daddy told me to keep watching, and again a speeding flash of color, and as quickly as it appeared, it had vanished again.
My father’s voice was tinged with expectation and a bit of humor.
“Well, my boy. Do I have a surprise for you today!”
Judging from the speed of the whatchamacallit and its proximity to the edge of the roof, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be surprised.
I’m sure I looked at my mother, and no doubt, her face wore an anxious, “I don’t know how smart this is, but I guess we’ll give it a whirl” sort of expression.
As we closed in on the building, I could no longer see IT, but the sound of the machine grew louder with each step. Now we found ourselves in what I later learned was a revolving door, which brought us face to face with the ground floor of a vast department store, filled with everything from blue jeans to light bulbs to pogo sticks. While my attention was diverted, (I may well have been looking at the latter of the three afore mentioned items) my dad navigated his small family up to a set of two massive double doors.
Suddenly, I heard a thump that seemed to shake the floor beneath my feet. I think I felt it more than I heard it, and the vibration startled me. Then the large metal doors parted like Moses and the Red Sea.
I was so transfixed by it all that my mom almost dragged me into the elevator. This was a first for me, but considering my tender age, almost everything was a first for me. And as I soon discovered, the “firsts” for that day were far from over.
I recall a feeling of being suspended in mid-air as the elevator lifted off, and I found myself holding onto my mother’s left knee for dear life. As I glanced up at my dad, it seemed he was a veteran of this little floating room with no furniture. As a matter of fact, a mischievous smile played about his lips, and somehow this comforted me. I turned loose of my mom’s knee, and as much as a four year old can manage it, I tried to act nonchalant. But I could only wonder what terrible surprise awaited me on the roof top.
The buttons on the control panel were labeled 1-14, and when we drew to a stop, I noticed there was a circular pattern of green light around button #14. Mama had been teaching me to count, and I realized there was no #13. I vowed to ask her about the absence of this number later.
The elevator “stopped with a start” and the doors parted again. My parents and I stepped out, and I was surprised to find we seemed to be in the midst of a garden center. Rakes, and sprinklers and work gloves filled bins of all shapes and sizes. And then I noticed the sound, the same sound I’d heard outside the building, but now it was almost overpowering. And if sound can be perceived as a circular motion, these acoustic vibrations had such an impact on me.
Mama allowed daddy to lead the way, since he had first told her about this place. It seems my dad had come home all excited talking about this cool ride on the roof of the Webb City Building. It was only years later that I learned the details.
Daddy led us to an open doorway, and as I stood directly in front of it, I noticed a short flight of stairs. It was about this time that mama leaned over, and considering the decibel level, almost shouted in my ear, (in a tone of voice that was anything but reassuring.)
…”Honey, I think you’re really gonna like this.”
I was led like a lamb to the slaughter up that short flight of stairs which seemed to grow progressively longer with each successive step.
And then… we were there.
As I stared in awe at the colorful, but foreboding piece of machinery, I almost mused aloud,
…“You want me to do what?”
Though my childish mind was immature and incapable of formulating such a phrase, with the passing of years I think those six words are as close as any to describing my perception of what greeted me that day.
“Royce, you’ll absolutely love it.”
“What daddy?”
I had been so transfixed with the scene before me that I hadn’t grasped what he said to me.
“Your mother and I will wait. Go ahead and get in line behind those other boys and girls.”
“You mean… all by myself, daddy?”
“Yes son. Of course.”
I hesitated a moment to see if he was joking. Apparently he wasn’t. And so I dutifully obeyed.
Even at this age I could do the math. There were seven children in front of me, and I noticed that the metal ogre was slowing to a stop. It wasn’t enough that the machine emitted creaks and groans and whistles, as it sailed along the circular track, but the boys and girls who rode that iron horse of a thing were even louder. I watched them as they stepped out of their respective cars. Smiles lit up the faces of a couple of eight or ten year olds. But without exception, the younger kids seemed as pale as ghosts, and a little girl, (she might have been 5 or 6) first stumbled, and then “lost her cookies” on the boarding platform.
The attendant could only shake his head and groan. I felt something welling up inside of me, and I was close to emulating the behavior of the little girl. The seven of us, who had previously formed a perfectly straight line, had by now backed into a cluster. Had Mr. Nielsen been there that day, his rating would, no doubt, have revealed an utter contempt for this mechanical beast, and a very strong desire in all our hearts to simply… go home.
Now the attendant was mopping up the mess with a mop and bucket. I turned around so I didn’t have to watch the least favorite part of his less than professional vocation. And I noticed my daddy and mama were watching me from the sidelines.
Henry McDonald’s son wasn’t about to chicken out at such a God-awful moment. No way, Jose. I didn’t have to ask. I knew what the answer would be. And as much as everything inside of me screamed for a way out,
… I knew it didn’t exist.
Then I did something that I would soon live to regret. As the young fella was putting away his mop and bucket, I stepped up into the number one boarding position, (but only three of the original seven children stepped up behind me.) I turned to look, and it was then I noticed two girls and one boy walking towards the staircase; hand in hand with their mothers and fathers.
But I had made my choice, if indeed a choice existed, and as the frustrated attendant opened the door of a brightly painted car… I stepped in and sat down. The young man buckled my seat belt and pulled it tight around my waist. I was committed, come hell or high water.
…(At least it was a good theory.)
The metal monster picked up some momentum now, and my parents’ faces whizzed past at dizzying speed. I felt that old familiar queasyness in my belly and rising up in my throat. Someone nearby was screaming loudly!
And then I realized that someone
… was me!
I was on the back of a raging tiger. I was riding the crest of a hurricane-driven wave. I was a hapless bowling pin in the hands of a giant juggler.
Somehow I caught the eye of my mother, and she knew what she had to do. She rushed over to the little booth where the attendant sat with his hands on the controls. And as my vehicle completed yet another circle, I added words to my previously unintelligible tirade,
“Mommy. Mommy. Help me. I want off. Now!”
Suddenly, the forward motion of my vehicle slowed, and I dared to believe that I had been granted a reprieve from certain death. My agony abated and it seemed my salvation drew near.
As the car slowed to a stop I remember looking over at my dad. He was still standing in his original spot near the staircase; looking slightly embarrassed. How could a son of his, no matter how young, sacrifice an opportunity to prove his fearlessness, and wrest victory from defeat?
(Well, perhaps the foregoing implication is reading a bit too much into the scenario. But nonetheless, daddy didn’t appear to be a “happy camper.”)
No one had to beg me to get off the THING. I found myself helping the guy as he fumbled with my seat beat. I couldn’t get back on terra firma fast enough. I must have felt rather like the military veteran returning from combat duty, (though I wasn’t savvy enough at the time to bend over and kiss the ground.)
For the moment no one was in line to ride, and the hideous sound of metal against metal had been stilled. Suffice it to say, I made a quick departure from “the scene of the crime.”
I think my dad was smart enough not to verbalize what he might have considered cowardice. After all, I had my mother to defend me. And she had cooperated in my unexpected pardon from the throes of a fate worse than death; (or so it seemed at the time.)
I never returned to that place, with or without my parents. At this juncture in life, the attendant would be my parents’ age, and my fellow patrons would, like me, be living out their early golden years. Amazing, how quickly six decades can fall through the sandy hourglass of time.
But I can assure you those two minutes that I “rode the whirlwind” impacted me far beyond their comparative brevity in terms of the expenditure of time.
For as a rule, I simply do not
… ride ROLLERCOASTERS.
Don’t, Won’t, Can’t, Shan’t, Nada
I am altogether cognizant that the rollercoaster on the rooftop was a pitifully small affair, and in the scheme of things no more than a kiddy ride. But they say everything is relative, and at least to me, I would have sooner climbed Mount Everest than finish the ride that day. And to be fair, that tiny piece of equipment could not have climbed much higher than a man’s head, nor shadowed a piece of ground much larger than half a tennis court.
And I have stood below some rather substantial coasters, and marveled at their width and height and length and breath. And I have wondered whether I could strap myself into one of those contraptions again; if my very life depended on it. (And it is amazing for me to consider how ten and twelve year old children find the wherewithal to ride such awesomely larger versions of the tiny machine I rode so long ago. It is beyond my comprehension.)
Well, I am pleased to report that on such and such a day, perhaps six or eight years ago, I summoned up whatever one finds to summon up, and for at least the space of a few moments, I conquered those old, enduring fears which had limited me, and held me back in ways too numerous to count.
My wife and I live near the now defunct Cypress Gardens. There on the grounds of this famous tourist attraction sat two ancient torture devices, (or so it has ALWAYS seemed to me.) Jean suggested I conquer my age-old fears, and step into a line of perhaps twenty people waiting to board the smaller of the two “torture chambers.”
But there was nothing remotely small about this one. Oh, of course it was a “David” compared to the “Goliaths” I have seen in some theme parks, but it was still plenty big; easily thirty feet from ground to crest, and covering the space of almost half a football field.
I admit standing there, waiting to board, I sensed a sure and abiding kinship with that small, familiar boy who once stood in a line, not unlike this one, so many years hence. And as my wife, in essence, assumed the role of my parents, it was all so fresh, and new, and present again.
And perhaps in some not so explainable way, that little tyke, from a bygone era, stood with me, and once again abject terror filled his tear-filled eyes. And in some mysterious, but not so impossible manner he placed his hand in mine, and we steeled ourselves for a mission that neither of us had the wherewithal to complete
… alone.
Hand in hand we sat down together, and allowed a young attendant, (who looked remarkably like the one who had long since grown old) to buckle us in. And as our personal little “time machine” gained momentum, and we approached the steep incline of its first loop, I think that tiny, mirror-image of myself envisioned an opportunity where he might complete that which he had once begun.
And I think the older, heavier, balder version of that little man cast his thoughts backwards to a time and place when he had summoned up all that was good, and true, and brave about himself, when he took his place at the front of the line.
And as our colorful, little vehicle mounted the first, yet highest crest of that small-gauged track, and proceeded to drop into oblivion, I thought I felt the tender grasp of a tiny hand in mine, and somehow the boy compelled me to join him, and so we lifted our arms in unison.
And as my wife looked on, and as the coaster navigated first one loop and yet another ebb, I closed my eyes and contained a silent scream. And when I thought I heard a muted sound beside me, I turned… and he rewarded me with a smile.
Time elapsing. Slowing now.
… Mission completed.
The friendly, young attendant unbuckles our seatbelt, and allows us to step out. My wife waves, and doubles her hands above her head, as if to say,
“It certainly took you long enough,
… but you did it!”
And for the briefest moment I think I see him again, and his little hand slips from my grasp, and he steps away. And with his fading presence, I think I hear a voice, a familiar voice, but young and vibrant once again.

“See. I told you that you could do it. 

… Now, let’s go home.”

By William McDonald, PhD

Excerpt from "Snapshots of a Life (Not Always So Well) Lived. Vol. 1. Copyright 2000

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