Evening at Oaks Park
The Multnomah County Library awards discounted ride bracelets to Oaks Park for kids who complete their summer reading program, which all three boys easily earned. Meg took the older two during the afternoon (Ian went to a friend's house), while Aaron and I rode our bikes through Oaks Bottom and the Springwater Corridor in the evening for a little more action (Ed declined a second visit).
I didn't write about it, but last year Meg and I stole away one evening for a brief interlude at Oaks Park and rode the ferris wheel and maybe some other rides. I don't recall if I declined to ride the more involved rides or not, but we didn't do anything too crazy. But Aaron wanted me to go on every ride with him, which included the scary ones. Oaks Park has perhaps the least scariest rides in America, but they still bother me greatly (I'm becoming such an old man). I still have strong memories of Lagoon many years ago, where my body literally would not calm down. But today I had a different experience, a feeling I haven't had since I was a young lad: the urge to hurl.
After the first ride, Aaron asked what ride I wanted to do next. I replied, "I want to ride my bike back home please." That didn't fly with him, though, and he scampered to the next ride, yelling at me to follow him, while he held up his shorts that kept falling down. This pattern lasted for two rides, at which point I petitioned him for a break and I sat down. After calming down, I accompanied him on the thunder roller coaster, which was the only ride Aaron hadn't done and which he wouldn't do without me riding with him. It turned out to be the least harmful rides for me, and it gave Aaron the peace of mind that he could do it again on his own, again and again and again (but no agains for me). The park was pretty empty so Aaron could go on a ride, quickly exit, and then re-enter and ride again. We went on a few more rides together until one--it was similar to The Matterhorn that used to always be at the Oregon State Fair--started swirling the chunks in my stomach and I thought I was going to lose my lunch right then and there. I slowly walked away, sat down on the first bench I found, closed my eyes and rested my head between my legs, focused as if I were in my sanctuary (Crystal Springs Gardens), and mentally chanted "serenity now, serenity now"). That seemed to work, as no chunks found their way back out.
Aaron continued running from place to place, not just riding the attractions but also planning how best to maximize his time before the park closed. I think he sensed my trepidation about going on more scary rides with him--a peer from church was also there, so that was a fun distraction for a while--and told me that we could ride the Carrousel together right before the park closed at 9:00 p.m. I melted at the sympathetic gesture and secretly lowered my expectations that he would forget or would be caught on a scary ride when the park closed. But he timed it perfectly, as we ended the night riding side-by-side--him on a frog, me on a rooster--a perfect, peaceful way to cap the night, and a memory that I hope lives longer than the life of this blog entry.
I didn't write about it, but last year Meg and I stole away one evening for a brief interlude at Oaks Park and rode the ferris wheel and maybe some other rides. I don't recall if I declined to ride the more involved rides or not, but we didn't do anything too crazy. But Aaron wanted me to go on every ride with him, which included the scary ones. Oaks Park has perhaps the least scariest rides in America, but they still bother me greatly (I'm becoming such an old man). I still have strong memories of Lagoon many years ago, where my body literally would not calm down. But today I had a different experience, a feeling I haven't had since I was a young lad: the urge to hurl.
After the first ride, Aaron asked what ride I wanted to do next. I replied, "I want to ride my bike back home please." That didn't fly with him, though, and he scampered to the next ride, yelling at me to follow him, while he held up his shorts that kept falling down. This pattern lasted for two rides, at which point I petitioned him for a break and I sat down. After calming down, I accompanied him on the thunder roller coaster, which was the only ride Aaron hadn't done and which he wouldn't do without me riding with him. It turned out to be the least harmful rides for me, and it gave Aaron the peace of mind that he could do it again on his own, again and again and again (but no agains for me). The park was pretty empty so Aaron could go on a ride, quickly exit, and then re-enter and ride again. We went on a few more rides together until one--it was similar to The Matterhorn that used to always be at the Oregon State Fair--started swirling the chunks in my stomach and I thought I was going to lose my lunch right then and there. I slowly walked away, sat down on the first bench I found, closed my eyes and rested my head between my legs, focused as if I were in my sanctuary (Crystal Springs Gardens), and mentally chanted "serenity now, serenity now"). That seemed to work, as no chunks found their way back out.
Aaron continued running from place to place, not just riding the attractions but also planning how best to maximize his time before the park closed. I think he sensed my trepidation about going on more scary rides with him--a peer from church was also there, so that was a fun distraction for a while--and told me that we could ride the Carrousel together right before the park closed at 9:00 p.m. I melted at the sympathetic gesture and secretly lowered my expectations that he would forget or would be caught on a scary ride when the park closed. But he timed it perfectly, as we ended the night riding side-by-side--him on a frog, me on a rooster--a perfect, peaceful way to cap the night, and a memory that I hope lives longer than the life of this blog entry.
Comments
Post a Comment