I must have been six or seven years old, hopefully not nine or ten. Our family was at Crystal Beach, an amusement park located on the shore of Lake Erie in Ontario. We went there once every summer, having earned ride tickets based on the grades we got on our report cards.
My older siblings were going on the Magic Carpet, a walk-through funhouse with crooked rooms, funny mirrors, moving walls, scary dioramas, and finishing off with a bumpy ride down a magic carpet.
I wanted to go. I begged my Mom to let me. She thought I was too young, but she gave in, because sometimes moms do that, although she decided she would come along. Good thing.
We weren’t five minutes in that evil palace and I was quaking in terror. I screamed when it looked like the rolling barrel was going to fall on my head. I clung to my mother and cried in the black hallways where spooky creatures jumped out at me. I was too big to carry but too young to handle the situation, and my mom had to pull me along to get me through the ride because the walkways were so narrow and dark, and traffic was one-way only. I remember my feet dragging along the floor because I couldn’t walk properly, forcing my mother to struggle with me.
I guess I wasn’t a fearless kid.
I don’t think I ever thanked my mom for getting me through. So, thanks Mom. You’d be glad to know I have a little more courage now. She died 42 years ago today, and I still miss her, still search my memories for anything I can grasp and hold onto.
