Day 97: I Am Not Amused

Yesterday I took my son L and three of his friends to Six Flags Great Adventure in New Jersey to celebrate his 15th birthday. Although I think of myself as the kind of girl that just loves amusement parks, the truth is that I hadn't been to Great Adventure since the summer of 1977, when I was 17 and about to start freshman year in college. In the intervening years I've been to Disney World twice, but each time I was pregnant and limited to kiddie rides. And while the local fireman's carnival is the highlight of the social calendar in our town, I just chat with the other parents rather than actually go on any of the rides; besides, they tend towards ones like Scrambler, which throws you from side to side. At age 17, you think that's sick, but at age 49 it makes you sick. And the last time I went on a ferris wheel was the last time for sure. That point where you crest the top and your car is rocking and you can hardly see the ant people below? Scary as hell.

So, my plan for yesterday was to read, do Sudoku (good for my ass-brain), return phone calls, eat cotton candy, fudge, french fries and a funnel cake for good measure, and ride a roller coaster. I adore roller coasters. No matter that those other rides aren't my cup of tea -- roller coasters are the bomb.

I told L that I wanted to go on a plain old roller coaster -- no loop-di-loops or hanging upside down for this purist -- and he suggested Nitro. I trusted my son. With our handy flash pass we were able to bypass the long line and head right up the stairs and into a car with nary a glance around. It wasn't until we were securely locked in and climbing what turned out to be 23 STORIES (23 STORIES!) that I realized that roller coasters aren't what they used to be. Panic set in as I recalled one of the first lessons of physics: what goes up must come down. When we finally reached the top of the hill, I squeezed my eyes shut and then... well, the earth simply dropped away. I have never been so scared in my life. My fear was compounded when I realized that I was going to die in New Jersey.

It was a long ride (80 mph top speed, I'm told; over 1 mile long, I'm told; the planet's most explosive roller coaster, I'm told). You probably get the picture, but just in case, take a gander at the accompanying photo, snapped at the height of my shame and misery. I look like my grandmother when she was quite elderly and had lost all of her teeth. Blackmail fodder.

In shock, I stumbled off Nitro and wandered dazedly into a gift shop where I happened upon what? Why, a Nitro shot glass of course! A Nitro shot glass! Where's Jose Cuervo when you really, really need him?

That Nitro shot glass now sits on the bookshelf in my office alongside photos of my kids, cards and drawings they've made me, and mementos from my own childhood. A souvenir of my son's 15th birthday? Perhaps. Or perhaps it's a reminder of 17-year-old me, the girl who loved roller coasters, and the day I learned that I don't have to try to be like her anymore. It's okay to grow up and leave some things behind. Life is a great adventure and shouldn't be limited by who I used to be.