Old wooden coaster

 He stood next to the sign saying, "You must be this high to ride the mighty coaster." Maybe next year, his Mom said, taking his hand and heading for the kiddie park where everybody rode. 

The following year, he did everything he could to grow three inches. He stretched, did pull-ups, ate vegetables, and passed with an inch to spare when the day came to stand by the sign.

Waiting in line to get your turn on the coaster gave you plenty of time to think of a reason to run away as the wooosh of a car raced past you. The sounds of both happy and terrified passengers repeated again and again until the squeaking brakes brought the coaster to the end of the ride.

The moment of truth was when you were strapped in alongside a perfect stranger who would laugh with you, scream with you, and hold on to you for dear life as you raced around the wooden monster's breakneck turns, dips, and overall terror.

For years, you had watched from the ground as seasoned riders raised their hands above their heads, defying gravity and some soiling their pants. You didn't want to raise your arms to the sky, but your new friend beside you made it easy. She grabbed hold of your arm and held it tight, raising both hers and your arms high above your heads, and certain death, or so you thought the first time.

Racing around the track, arms raised, feet lifting off the floor, you felt sick and frightened, yet you couldn't wait for your next ride. You rode the coaster five times that day, each time less terrifying as you reached for the sky around one complete loop. However, the operator told you that you had to keep your arms in the car or be banned from riding again.

As years passed, I must have ridden that thing a hundred times and became known as the coaster king. My picture hung on a signpost where everybody could read my accomplishments. Fast forward to the day my son made the height cut, and the two of us strapped in, waiting for the chain clanking as the first car began the slow climb upward with seconds before the car dove down the track, building speed as it went. I knew every curve, every loop, and every chance to raise my arms and be lifted enough to say a prayer to keep me safe.

It was a sad day when the park announced it would be closing for good. The rides were dismantled, and many were sold to other parks across the country, some as far away as Miami.

But what about the monster coaster? Where would it end up? Once completely dismantled, the massive number of wooden planks and the machinery to operate them were loaded into box cars, the destination unknown. As it turned out, the coaster was sold to Coney Island Amusements, just fifty miles away. Construction took a year to complete, but on the day it opened, my son and I were first in line. Would it be the same as they remembered it being? 

As the coaster climbed to the top of the first hill, he noticed guard rails had been installed around every sharp turn and loop. He didn't understand until he realized this coaster was ten times faster than the first one. Tears rushed across your face, and your skin was pulled back like a crazy cartoon character. To be truthful, I was scared, as was my son, who held onto me as tightly as he could, and even after the ride came to a stop, I had to gently pry his hands off of my arm.

My age prevents me from riding the old wooden coaster anymore, but I take my grandchildren whenever I can. I cheer them on as the chain begins to pull the cars to the top. The voices and screams of excited riders fill the air, taking me back to my youth, standing next to a wooden sign and wishing for three more inches.

Mike 2025