I know, it’s last-minute, but I had to post on this prompt on Mama Kat‘s site. I remember it all too well. I adore roller-coasters. Bigger, badder, longer. But the best, for me, are the wooden coasters. I’ve been hung upside-down, spun out into space, and harnessed in any number of ways. The Beast at King’s Island will always be my favorite.
I can say this with authority because I waited forever with my heart in my throat that first summer it opened. I read all the warning signs ten times. I rode it, got back in line, and rode it again. There’s nothing like the thrill of a great roller coaster.
When I rode it as a parent for the first time it was completely different. During that long pull up the first hill, with my husband beside me, I realized we’d never made a will. Our son, with a coaster-pathic friend at the kiddie rides, could be orphaned. Was a will scratched into the seat of a roller-coaster valid? Did I have time? Why did I think this was a good idea? I had a child to think about! What sort of irresponsible parent gets killed on a roller-coaster? Thankfully, we made it through safely.
But since I’ve had four neurosurgeries on my cervical spine I won’t be riding any again. This actually was the first question I asked my surgeon after my first neurosurgery. He didn’t just say, “No.” He gave me many case studies and personal patient experiences that should have made me terrified to ever ride a roller coaster. But if I hit eighty I’m going to King’s Island and riding the Beast one last time. Seriously, could there be a better way to go than screaming with the thrill of the ride?