Chapter Nineteen: Cedar Point​​​

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     It was summer, a time for the declaration many Ohio parents inevitably made at this same time every year. Alma said it, but it just as easily could have been me.

 

     “I think we should take the kids to Cedar Point.”

 

     Remembering my childhood, I nodded enthusiastically. Then I remembered Cedar Point wasn’t free; Paris vacations were known to be less expensive.   

 

     “Cedar Point would be great. I’ll just break into the kids’ college funds.”

 

     Usually the more frugal member of our little partnership, Alma ignored me entirely. My wife had the amusement park bug - she would not let a little thing like money get in our way.

 

     As soon as the weather grew warm, the thoughts of all Midwestern kids turned to Cedar Point. Consistently voted one of the country’s top amusement parks, the Point housed some of the nation’s best roller coasters, a bountiful assortment of junk and real food, and enough kiddie rides to excite even the youngest children

 

     I met my first date at Cedar Point, at least what qualified as a date to my fourteen-year-old mind. I only went on a few rides with the girl in question, and I couldn’t tell if she was interested or considered me a potential stalker. My pseudo-date eventually lost me in a food line, but the experience was glorious nonetheless – my first semi-romantic encounter with the opposite sex.

 

     While kids worshipped the park, their parents’ feelings were typically more mixed. Approaching the cost of your average Bentley, the price of admission tended to be the primary reason. If that expense wasn’t enough, the parking tab only added to the pain.

 

     In addition to tickets and parking, the cost of food and drink at the park was two to three times what the same meal would cost elsewhere. Some families tried to make do by sneaking in their own edibles, but park employees diligently scanned all new arrivals for anything remotely resembling nourishment. I once heard the Secret Service recruited at Cedar Point - discontinuing the practice only after those hired proved too enthusiastic in their stop-and-frisk techniques.

 

     When I told my mother about our impending trip, she immediately burst into laughter. Noting my confused look, Mom said, “At last you’ll appreciate what your father and I went through. Just keep an eye on the kids and try to get them off the roller coasters alive.”

 

     “I think they’re a little below the coaster height requirements. Besides, I believe not killing your kids is part of the park service guarantee.”

 

     “You laugh, but we could have sent you to Harvard with the money we spent on that park.”

 

     I later told Alma about the last comment.

 

     “Your mom’s aware you and I met at Case Western, correct?”

 

     “Don’t take offense - my mom thinks you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. She’s told me so on more than one occasion.”

 

      We informed the kids about our impending amusement park visit. They had both seen commercials for Cedar Point and were appropriately enthusiastic. With their buy-in, I purchased four tickets online while thanking God for the children’s rate. That step complete; one week later we headed for Ohio’s version of the magic kingdom.

 

     According to Google, the trip to Cedar Point would take about an hour and a half from our South Euclid home. As Einstein theorized, however, adding kids to any trip resulted in time slowing dramatically.

 

     “Are we there yet?”

 

     It’s good to know my kids were traditionalists. The fact we had barely left our driveway did nothing to dissuade them.

 

     “Jack’s hitting me.”

 

     I let Alma handle that one. A mom glare did the trick nicely.

 

     Around mile thirty, I could have sworn I heard Jack asking about the crisis in the Middle East. The logical part of me realized that was likely incorrect. Unless the issue had hit SpongeBob recently, I doubt Jack was aware of such problems. However, in the fevered recesses of my brain, that was still the question I thought I had heard.

 

     Realizing I had no clue regarding Jack’s real inquiry, I chose not to respond in the hope that he would move onto something else. To my chagrin, the car grew quiet as Jack waited for my answer. Even Alma looked at me expectantly.

 

     I finally answered “yes,” figuring there was at least a fifty-fifty chance that might be correct. As things turned out, fifty-fifty didn’t cut it in this circumstance.

​

     “You just gave your son permission to ride one of the big roller coasters.”  From the look on Alma’s face, she was once again re-thinking the whole marriage thing.

 

     I tried to recover. “I meant yes, Jack can’t ride any of the roller coasters in the park - not until he grows at least another foot.”

 

     Alma just sighed. “In what world was that answer coherent?”

 

     “Sorry – I was paying attention to the road.”

 

     “It’s good he wasn’t asking for dating advice.”

 

     “Then my answer would be no, always no.”

 

     We arrived safely, ending up in a parking space roughly four and one-half miles from the Cedar Point entrance gate. Alma grabbed the tickets and the sunscreen – the Listers were ready to roll.

 

     Given our distance from the park entrance, it was fortunate Alma suggested we bring along our wagon, eager to again be of use after its bravo performance at the zoo. While Jack appeared grateful for the ride, Emily disembarked halfway to the entrance. At six years old, she was sure she could walk the remaining distance.

 

     Having not visited the park in years, Alma and I were amazed by the changes. As we stepped through the entrance, one of the Cedar Point’s two-hundred-thousand employees handed us a park map. After glancing at the guide, I had even less of an idea where we were going than I did flying blind.

 

     Handing the cursed thing to Alma, I said, “it looks like some bizarre Escher adaptation of Chutes and Ladders. Do you have any idea where the hell we are?”

 

     Alma pointed to the kids, both severely disappointed with their blaspheming father.

 

     “Sorry – do you have any idea where the heck we are?”

 

     Alma scanned the map. While initially confused as well, she finally stabbed a finger in the right-hand corner.

 

     “Here’s the entrance, and here,” she added, pointing to a dot a short distance away, “is the kiddie park.”

 

     Our direction now clear, we began our walk. As we moved past some of the larger roller coasters, Emily pointed to each one insisting on hearing their names. Some were hard for even me to pronounce, sounding like they were born in a drug-induced stupor.

 

     After I threw out the name of one particularly frightening metal monstrosity, Emily asked, “What’s a Rougarou?”

“I think it’s a Slavic curse.” While I had no idea, I was sure no one else in the park would either.  I hadn’t contended with my brilliant wife.

 

     “A Rougarou is a monster story they tell in Louisiana,” Alma chimed in. “It’s kind of a Cajun werewolf.”

 

     I knew better than to think she was making it up.

 

     “How could you possibly know that?”

 

     “I was curious about the name. I looked it up when the ride first came out.”

 

     I looked at Emily, wondering if she would be frightened by passing so close to a giant metal werewolf. I should have known better. No supernatural boogeyman would scare my daughter.

 

     “Daddy, how old do I have to be to ride it?”

 

     “You can ride it when you’re thirty.”

 

     “Last week, you said I wouldn’t be able to date until I’m thirty.”

 

     “At least I’m consistent.”

​

     Walking next to me, Alma whispered, “Did you really tell her she couldn’t date until she’s thirty?”

 

     “Remember what I was like when we were in college?  You should be thanking me.”

 

     Alma’s memory jogged; she said nothing more on the subject. For her part, Emily continued pointing to each coaster we passed, hoping against hope I might change my mind. If her brother wasn’t looking for the food court, I would have been getting it from both sides.

 

     Once at the kiddie park, the kids’ attention focused elsewhere. Like the rest of the park, Cedar Point had spared little expense in designing its children’s rides. No longer home to the Point’s most boring diversions, we had struck kiddie park gold.

 

     While my children were tall enough to ride all the attractions in the kiddie section, I shouldn’t have wondered which one they would pick first. Every kid grows up dreaming about their first solo ride in an automobile. At Cedar Point, that meant Joe Cool’s Dodgem School.

 

     Alma and I watched the kids standing in line, Alma’s grip on my right arm growing more painful each moment she saw the ride in action.

 

     “They’re going to kill themselves.”

 

     “No, but you might ruin my arm if you keep holding it like that.”

 

     “Why did you let them choose this ride?”

 

     In truth, I didn’t remember it ever being my choice. If only to guarantee my ability to continue writing right-handed, I attempted to calm down my increasingly apprehensive spouse.

 

     “Relax. The ride says you have to be thirty-six inches. Jack is thirty-seven, and Emily is well over that. I’m sure the park has a legion of lawyers who signed off on the ride’s height and safety requirements. They wouldn’t have approved it unless the ride is safe.”

 

     You would have thought I signed off on our children joining the World Wrestling Federation. Alma’s glare could have melted steel.

 

     “You’re basing our children’s safety on the judgment of a roomful of lawyers and Jack being one inch above the height requirement?”

 

     “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?  Besides, when you think about it, he’s really two inches above – they would have let him on even if he was only thirty-six.”

 

     Alma’s grip grew stronger. Her next words weren’t so much spoken as hissed.

 

     “Get our kids off that ride right now!”

 

      I knew a command when I heard one. I moved forward towards the line, unsure what to do next.

 

     As things turned out, there was nothing I could do. While Alma and I were speaking, Jack and Emily were strapped into their own separate cars, and the ride operator pressed his finger on the button. My children, like it or not, were now motorists.

 

     I ran back to Alma, my wife, glaring as if I had started the ride myself. As I returned to her side, Alma and I watched our children at the wheel.

 

     Luckily for my arm and my marriage, the kids weren’t half-bad, better than half the people driving Cleveland’s I-90 freeway. While Emily’s attention was elsewhere, Jack managed to T-bone his sister in the ride's first minute. No shrinking violet, Emily, countered by doubling back and returning the favor, riding Jack into the wall as she did so.

 

     I noticed Alma’s grip gradually loosening as she watched both of our children laughing through the mayhem. Shockingly, she even let them both get back in line after the ride ended, realizing their drag-racing instincts would not be denied.

 

     Watching Jack and Emily on their second go-round, I caught Alma actually smiling.

 

     “Right now, you’re thinking - you were right, Alan. You are always right, my dear husband.”

 

     “Actually, I was going to suggest we eat lunch. Don’t let the rest go to your head.”

 

     After the kids disembarked, we ate lunch at a nearby restaurant - pizza for Emily and Alma, hamburgers and fries for Jack and me.

 

     “This food cost more,” I said to Alma, “than that downtown French restaurant we went to for our last anniversary.”

 

     “True, but we didn’t get to eat in the shadow of the midway.”

 

     After lunch, the kids returned to the rides.  Next up in kiddie land came the helicopters, a ride where the kids could control how high their chopper rose by manipulating a metal rod. The kids were thrilled by their newfound freedom – their mother still had issues.

 

     “Make sure you stay near the ground,” she called to Jack and Emily as the operator strapped them into their seats. I was gratified to see my kids’ “are you crazy” looks were not merely reserved for their father.

 

     You could say that Jack tried - you’d be lying, but you could say that. My mechanical wizard quickly figured out the controller, realizing he could send his helicopter up and back down again in relatively short order. The resulting dives and climbs did little for Alma’s blood pressure, but Jack enjoyed himself, nonetheless. By the time he was through, his smile matched the one he wore after winning a bet from me over the loudest burp.

 

     While Emily was a more consistent pilot than her brother, her chosen altitude was the exact opposite of the one requested by her mother. My daughter flew as high as she could, waving happily every time she passed by. I looked at Alma, hoping to ease her fears.

 

     “You know they’re fine. You and I would have done the same thing when we were their age.”

 

     When Alma turned towards me, I realized my error - my mother lioness wife was smiling.

 

     “You remember the old Geauga Lake park?  They had a ride just like this, and I would fly just like Emily is now, always up in the clouds. My mother used to yell at me too. I had forgotten about that until now.”

 

     I held Alma’s hand as we watched our children land and climb out of their respective helicopters. Reminiscing time was over; it was on to motorcycles and dune buggies. More sedate than the kids’ first two rides, both vehicles were nonetheless fast enough to pique their interest. Her earlier fears now in perspective, Alma still appreciated her children were now firmly on the ground.

 

     After the motorcycles, we walked onward, Emily and Jack making a beeline for Snoopy Bounce, a giant inflatable bounce house inside a scarily tall version of Charlie Brown’s pet beagle. It was there Alma and I re-learned one of the first lessons of amusement park well-being – never, ever let your kids enter a stomach-jarring ride so soon after eating lunch.

 

     I realized we had a problem when I saw Jack and Emily exiting Snoopy’s innards some distance ahead of the unfortunate kids who entered with them. Some of those kids were screaming; others were doubled over. As she moved closer to where we were standing, Emily just looked disgusted. I then noticed something else that didn’t look quite right.

 

     Turning to Alma, I said. “I didn’t remember Jack wearing a brown shirt.”

 

     Breaking into a run, she said, “That’s because his shirt was red. Oh my God, he threw up.”

 

     I had never heard of anyone vomiting in a bounce house - perhaps no one had ever done it before. The other parents surged forward, determined to rescue their children. I needed to save Jack before he was attacked by some parental lynch mob.

 

     I ran forward and scooped up my son while Alma grabbed Emily. Moving away from the crowd, we found an unoccupied bench and planned our next move.

 

      I asked Alma, “I don’t suppose there’s any chance we brought an extra shirt?”

 

     “No, somehow we never thought of that one.”

 

     Jack finally spoke, still somewhat dazed. “I barfed.”

 

     “I know, buddy. We’ll take care of you once we figure out what to do.”

 

     His sister then chimed in, “It was so gross. The kid next to us got some on him, and then he threw up. After that, his sister barfed, and everyone started yelling.”

 

     My son – the patient zero of a throw-up chain reaction. Alma and I looked at each other, each hoping the other had a solution.

 

     It was then I spotted the gift shop. If you count the smaller kiosks, there was a store every sixty feet within the Cedar Point amusement park. After telling Alma where I was headed, I ran to the nearest one, a full-sized affair selling everything from pens to suntan lotion and pictures of the rides. To my relief, they also carried shirts.

 

     Availability was one thing; size was another. After sorting through a hundred XXL shirts of various colors and designs, I finally found one that might fit Jack. The fact it wouldn’t fit him until he was twelve was inconsequential. They had a shirt; I needed a shirt. The acquisition would cost as much as my last suit, but I made the purchase anyway.

 

     Returning to my wife and kids, I handed Alma Jack’s new shirt. Holding it next to Jack, Alma looked at me with disbelief.

 

     “This thing’s about four sizes too big, not to mention the fact it’s all black.”

 

     “It’s not all black. In the upper left, there’s a little picture of the Raptor Roller Coaster. More to the point, it’s the only shirt they had that wasn’t extra-extra-large.”

 

     With no other choice, I took Jack to a nearby restroom, where he quickly changed shirts. As Alma feared, his new black Raptor shirt was indeed large, extending to just an inch above his ankles. Jack was intrigued.

 

     “I like this shirt.”

 

     “That’s good, buddy. Make sure to tell your mom that when we go outside.”

 

     We walked out to where Alma and Emily were waiting. His sister giggled; Alma just stared.

 

     “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was wearing a cassock. He looks like some sort of demented priest.”

 

     Making the sign of the cross, I said, “Bless you, my son.”

​

     Emily was now openly laughing as Jack was beginning to scowl. Seeking to forestall a fight, Alma said, “Before you’re struck by lightning, let’s see if we can stuff most of that thing down his pants.”

 

     That proved to be easier said than done. By the time we finished, Jack looked like he was wearing a money belt - a very large one, at that.

 

     I surveyed our son. “Does that feel okay, buddy?”

 

     “I look fat.”

 

     “Remember this the next time you want to pig out at the food court.”

 

     Jack’s wardrobe change complete, I realized I was still carrying my son’s original soiled shirt, now wrapped in several paper towels from the restroom. I asked Alma for suggestions.

 

     “You could burn it.”

 

     As tempting as that was, I found a food vendor who was kind enough to give us a trash bag. I placed the now-sealed shirt next to Jack in the wagon, and the Listers were again ready to ride. Alma took one last look at the Snoopy bounce house.

 

     “I’m not sure I’m ever going to forget that thing.”

 

     As we watched, a company of park employees headed inside, most carrying cleaning products.

 

     “Don’t worry; I don’t think it’s ever going to forget us, either.”

 

     Bad memories aside, we finished our tour of the park after mastering police cars, the Red Baron, and Woodstock’s Airmail. Jack got some long looks due to his faux money bag cassock, but he didn’t have any issues strapping himself in.

 

     Those rides conquered, we found it was already six o’clock. The kids were exhausted, so we decided to eat supper, try one last ride, and then head home. Despite our mishap in the bounce house, we had conquered the legendary Cedar Point.

 

     After a meal costing almost as much as I got paid for my last website job, we took a family ride on the carousel and set sail for the parking lot. Before the exit, Emily took one last look at some of the coasters we had forgone. Looking at her mother, she asked,

 

     “Can I ride one of those the next time we come?”

 

     “What does your dad always say?”

 

     “I can’t ride until I’m thirty?”

 

     “After the bounce house, that may be the next time the park lets us in.”