Thrill Ride Just Part of Parenting
Published February 25, 2007
I got more than I bargained for on Space Mountain at Epcot last weekend.
After waiting in a line that wound its way around the entire state of Florida we finally reached the
front.
“So, this must be a pretty special space show,” I remarked, alluding to the very large but patient
crowd.
“Space show?” my husband said, “it’s a roller coaster.”
“It is?”
“Yeah, like the sickest roller coaster in the country, Mom,” my son added.
The sick roller coaster came to a stop in front of us and a group of teenagers stepped in. Our cars
were next.
“I thought Epcot was supposed to be educational – we were gonna learn about space or something.”
“You thought this was a planetarium? This is one of the most intense roller coasters around – it’s
totally dark, it's all indoors and it’s fast.” My husband was smiling as my palms began to sweat. He
leaned in close so the kids couldn’t hear and said, “I mean, people have died on this thing.”
“What?!”
“All aboard,” the space commander said as my family scrambled into their cars.
Now, let me be perfectly clear about what happened next. I had exactly one and a half seconds to
make a decision or risk holding up the line that was already willing to wait until tomorrow to ride this
thing. Exit signs glowed alluringly behind me as the college-age Disney employee dressed in a space
suit stood waiting next to my empty car.
Yes, I wanted to slink out the side door. I wanted us all to. But my kids were oblivious to my inner
turmoil and already diligently strapping themselves in. And something happens when you become a
mother; the instinct to protect your offspring is a force to be reckoned with. So if they were gonna ride
this thing, then by gosh I’d be right behind them. If something dire happened on my watch then at
least I’d be an eyewitness for the subsequent lawsuits.
I jumped in the car.
For the next three minutes I was terrorized in that seat, and not because of the twists and turns of
the ride. Someone had died on this thing. I don’t know how, and I have a vague recollection that it was
a fluke heart attack or something, but someone had died nonetheless. With every dip and twist and
jerking motion I breathed deep and listened for the sounds of my family. A scream here, a squeal
there, and laughter all around me. I don’t think I made a sound until we stepped off at the end of the
line and I could see that they were all actually alive. And happy.
And isn’t that the way it goes as a parent? We do our damnedest to protect our kids from the
overwhelmingly difficult patches in life. But in the end, often all we can do is go along for the trip and
pray for the best. It’s their ride after all.
And in the words of my thirteen year old, it’s a pretty sick ride.