Wonderland

Because the girls had done well over the course of “Ten Days with Dad” and had soundly earned their fifty points each, Amy and I made good on our promise and told them that we were going to Wonderland that following Saturday.

There is a quality of excitement known only to kids, one that for some reason becomes all at once unattainable after the onslaught of hormones mutates our brains at puberty.  It’s that crazed, unhinged joy that overtakes them once every single need in their little brain has been instantly met.  There is no apprehension or worry of which adults suffer when they are looking forward to something. The excitement is not contingent upon any other occurrence.  All they want out of the world, for a very fleeting moment, they have.  And there is so much raw energy that must be released in this state of euphoric lunacy that they can no longer be held accountable for their own movements, let alone the volume of their voices. 

As a kid, there were three things that could get me that worked up: Christmas, my birthday, and Worlds of Fun.  One day, usually toward the beginning of summer, my folks would gather up a bunch of Coke cans, load us in the hot minivan and take us to Worlds of Fun, Kansas City’s answer to Six Flags (the Coke cans always had some discounted admission coupon on them).  And each time the news of our impending trip reached my little ears I thought I would explode with happiness.  

The Orient Express. 

The Zambizi Zinger. 

The Omegatron. 

Fury of the Nile.

And funnel cakes.  Oh, sweet baby Jesus, the funnel cakes.

There were games to play, rides to ride, food to eat and shit to win.  Even the tram ride from the parking lot to the entrance was awesome.  Everything was big and flashy and loud.  For a little plump fella, there was no downside whatsoever to Worlds of Fun.  

But for some reason, my parents were not as thrilled as I was.  I distinctly remember audible sighs and twisted expressions of pained reluctance as we begged and pleaded to go.  I mean, why wouldn’t they want to go every single weekend?  The place was freaking AWESOME.

Funny how things change.

As we pulled the car into the parking lot of Wonderland, Mo and Shay were out of their minds excited.

I was already annoyed. 

Because there is another side to that maniacal state of excitement that I never noticed as a kid: It sucks the joy from the world around it in order to feed itself.

The constant screeching.

The perpetual squirming.

The  nonsensical questions.

 

Now, while witnessing this level of joy in the girls was at first incredibly satisfying, it quickly wore out its welcome.  I had to say, “Girls!  Calm…down!” at least seventeen times on the way to the park, usually when one of them would belt out a shrill shriek in response to something the other had done. 

In other words, they kicked the grabass shenanigans into high gear, which is always fun while driving on the highway.

As we approached the gate, the second reason my folks used to groan about Worlds of Fun suddenly became evident. 

Lines.  I had forgotten that half the day was spent standing in lines.

The park wasn’t even open yet, and I was already checking my watch.

I swear to God, since the girls have come to live with us, probably three times a week I remind myself to call my father and apologize for something.  Because I know that I was way, way worse.

Before we even entered the park, we had a little talk with the girls.  It was pretty much the most crowded and public place we had ever been with the kids, so we had to spell out some ground rules, basically safety stuff about not wondering off alone.  This did, however, pose a bit of a problem when figuring out what to ride and who was riding what with whom. 

Shay, the younger, isn’t afraid of ANYTHING.  I mean, she’ll ride anything she can, and it flat out PISSED when she’s not tall enough for the upside-down rides.  She had mentioned this before, but I honestly thought she was just blowing smoke,

Mo, on the other hand, thinks just about everything is terrifying.  “Dad, I don’t want to ride anything that goes upside down.”

“That’s fine, I don’t think you’re tall enough anyway.”

“Or that drops too fast.”

“Okay, Amy doesn’t like that either.”

“Or goes through a tunnel.  That’s scary.”

“Uuuhh…not sure which ones have tunnels, but okay.”

“Or goes fast or spins too much.”

“Mo, are you going to ride anything at all?”

“Yes.  The little kid roller coaster and the teacups I’ll ride.”

“May be a short day then.”

So as we enter the park, the first thing they do is try and scatter in different directions.  Not in an effort to be rid of us, but simply because their little brains couldn’t comprehend more than, “I MUST RIDE THAT THING NOW!”  Mo ran directly to this dumpy little airplane merry-go-round thing where kids whose ages were still being counted in months squealed and drooled on themselves.

Shay found the ride that had the most teenagers waiting in line because that was sure to be the scariest.

These kids are pretty different from one another.

It worked out okay because I’ll ride just about anything and therefore could be Shay’s ride buddy.  Mo and Amy were content to just sit in tiny cars and slowly rotate about a central axis all day. 

Everyone was happy. 

And I can now confirm that this kid really isn’t afraid of anything.  I thought that maybe we’d get to a ride that she wasn’t so sure about and that maybe she’d chicken out.  I actually was trying to get this to happen by egging her on, saying things like, “look how high that thing goes!  Are you sure you really want to ride this?”  This backfired a little though, resulting in a semi-public shaming from my seven year old.  “Dad, you sure are talking about how high this thing goes a lot.  Are you sure you aren’t too scared to ride it?” 

This elicited some snickers from fellow line-standers, which got my ears hot, and I found myself feeling like a little fat kid at Worlds of Fun all over again, trying to act tough for the benefit of those around me.  “Oh, yeah, right, Shay.  Riiiiight.  I’m really, like, so scared of this Viking boat that swings back and forth.  Soooooo scary!”  She just looked up at me with eyes that saw right through my little ruse and quietly turned around to watch the ride move. 

Damn kid.  I’ll show you who’s scared!

So we get on this Viking boat, and I realize, yes, I’m not particularly looking forward to just swinging forward and backward through a 180 degree arc for four minutes.  As the thing starts, I say, “Okay, you ready Shay?”

“Are you?”

“Yes, damn it!  I said I’m not scared and I’m not!”

“Uh huh.”

Halfway through the ride, I’m kind of holding on tight to the bar in front of me, and my stomach is up in my throat.  I’m wishing the ride was about over.

Shay is just giggling her little head off the entire time, loving every second, with her arms straight up in the air.  She actually came up off the seat a bunch of times, which freaked me the hell out but thrilled her.  I reached out hand to keep her down on the seat but she shook it off and gave me a dirty look.

I’m really glad she was too short for the crazy roller coasters.  Not sure what I’m going to do next year.  I guess I’ll have to put on my big boy pants and just go with her.  God.  It’s like having my older brother around again.

At lunch the girls wolfed down their corn dogs (complete with, yes, a FUNNEL CAKE!!!), begged for a couple bucks in quarters, then ran over to the little shelter beneath which ski ball machines chimed.  The girls took a brief moment to look over the prizes behind the ticket counter (and behind the bored looking high school kid working it) then approached their respective machines.

There is another large difference between the two girls.  Despite their similar sizes and builds, Mo is, at least right now, more athletically inclined then her sister.  Mo won’t sit in front of the television for more than an hour before she wants to be outside playing.  Shay, on the other hand, would just as soon sit in front of the TV all damn day.  Anyway, this is important to pass along only to help explain the startlingly large gap between their individual ski ball performances.

I watched Mo sink four balls in the upper left-hand corner ring, the 10,000 pointer, FOUR TIMES IN A ROW.  I don’t know any adults that can do that.  The machine promptly vomited a coil of tickets at her feet.  Mo put in another coin and continued to put on her ski ball clinic for all to see. 

Shay, on the other hand, was getting pretty jealous of her sister’s natural arcade ability and was having a hard time getting the ball up the ramp.  She’d haphazardly bowl this thing up the chute, and more times than not it’d just hop enough to get into the 10 point rung.  She was getting visibly agitated, so Amy walked over to help her while I continued to watch the girls from a distance, devouring a funnel cake.

Why is it that in the last two posts I’ve described myself quietly watching children while sucking down carny food? 

Anyway, I’m watching Mo sink ball after ball, the machine just freaking out.  Next to her is Amy trying to explain to Shay how to aim her shot.  I see Amy hold the ball, act like she’s going to bowl the ball up the ramp, and is, from my perspective, telling her to delay her release a little.  Amy hands the ball to Shay.  Shay does some under-hand practice swings, silently and intently gaging her shot.  She winds up mightily.  Her arm cuts through the air…

…and the ball shoots straight up into the air and shatters the fluorescent lights above them.  Glass and bits of light fixtures come crashing down onto the ski ball table while both Amy and Shay scurry away to safety. 

Mo is staring in disbelief.

People are wondering what the hell had just happened, if part of the building had collapsed.

The bored teenager is perked up now, running for a broom.

Amy is checking Shay over for cuts.

I’m sitting at the table in the middle of the concourse, just laughing my ass off.  I mean, belly laughing.  Loudly. 

Which is never a good idea to do when a little girl is just getting over the shock of what had just happened and is now mortified of the results.  So she begins to sob and shoot me nasty looks.

But I can’t quit laughing.  I’ve got a funnel cake in one hand and the other is gripping my side, squeezing it, pinching, anything to stop me from my giddiness.  And just as I’m about to get my shit together, I picture her little arm launching that ball up into the lights…still making me laugh as I type.  But Shay wasn’t laughing. 

And for that matter, neither was Amy.

Later I got the lecture from my wife about how they aren’t little boys, they’re sensitive, and that laughing at them is just going to make things worse.  But damn, that was still pretty funny.

We left a few hours after that.  The lines were getting long and the day was getting hot and the girls were getting grumpy.  Mo had won a butt load of tickets at ski ball and had some new cheap trinkets to play with, which she was good enough to share with her sister, given the circumstances of her ski ball debacle.  I wonder if that will scar her a little, like, make her super anxious around carnival arcades and Chuck E. Cheeses?  I guess we’ll find out.

I’ll end with a joke Shay told me last night which, despite my best efforts, I had to laugh at.

Shay: “Dad, how do you get a zombie’s head onto another zombie’s body?”

Me: “What?  God, I don’t know.  How?”

Shay: “You have to guess though.”

Me:  “Why?”

Shay:  “Just because.”

Me:  “Okay…uh…you have to, like, chop the heads off first, then…wait, why am I playing this game with you?  This is a pretty dark subject right before bed.”

Shay:  “Pleeeeeease?”

Me:  “Okay, fine.  You have to cut off both the heads, then get a stick, jam it up each neck hole, then put it on the other one’s body.”

Shay:  “Nooooo…close!”

Me:  “Close?  You mean there’s an answer to this and that was close?”

Shay:  “Yeah, there’s an answer.  Wanna hear it?”

Me:  “Yes, God, please, tell me.”

Shay:  “You have to cut off the head then put it on your butt then you have to fart and then the head will fly up in the air and land on the other zombie’s head which will make it fart too then you’ll go poop because of all the zombie farts and everyone will laugh because of all the farts and poop.”

Me:  “…go to bed.”