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Manly man learns lesson at theme park
By Mark W. Mayfield
During a recent family outing to a prominent theme park, I learned a valuable lesson about high-speed thrill rides and the male anatomy. Sometime between its 40th and 41st year of operation, a man's body loses the ability to withstand the combined effects of gravity, velocity, violent turns, sudden acceleration, centrifugal force, momentary weightlessness and a greasy $7 corn dog.
Failing to heed the aforementioned law of nature will cause the aforementioned man to instantly lose the aforementioned corn dog and the respect of his two children, who once believed that their dad was a fearless, in-your-face, manly man who would never use a stupid word like "aforementioned."
Learning this lesson was not easy. After enduring several of the park's harmless rides (the slow ones that never exceed the universally recognized speed of nausea), I bravely announced that I was ready to try a real ride (the high-speed kind that prohibits pregnant women, the infirm, the fainthearted and any man named "Dana"). My son, who has developed some troubling masochistic tendencies, excitedly recommended "the one that whips you around and around till your spinal cord starts to feel funny."
My daughter, who apparently likes the idea of being fatherless, begged me to ride "the one that causes detached retinas and severe brain swelling." My wife, who never misses an opportunity to make a delightfully caustic remark, said that if I really wanted to prove my manliness, I should try mowing the lawn once in a while.
I ignored their self-serving suggestions and chose a high-speed roller coaster that should be called "The Quivering Bladder," because that's exactly the response it evoked. (The bladder, also known as "the body's little danger detector," quivers whenever severe personal injury is likely or imminent.)
By the time I reached the front of the line, a catastrophic failure in my brain's common-sense sector had transformed me into a deranged doofus who was voluntarily boarding a seatless roller coaster. That's right, a SEATLESS roller coaster!
Any sane person would realize that the human body was not designed to stand up on high-speed thrill rides. It's dangerous, unnatural and, as I soon discovered, it can cause a man to violate at least one of the Ten Commandments ("Thou shalt not scream bad, bad words").
To make matters even worse, riders must straddle slender vinyl cushions that were obviously invented by diabolical upholsterers who know how to exploit mankind's inherent fear of groin-related discomfort. Nevertheless, it was too late to back out. After all, my kids were expecting me to exhibit that I'm-not-afraid-of-any-stinkin'-ride attitude, which is so important in the pursuit of complete "dadness."
Suddenly, I felt the violent lurch that signaled the start of the ride and the end of my life. During the following 60 seconds, I experienced the entire spectrum of human emotions, including sadness (I sadly realized that only very stupid people go on this ride); regret (I regretted being so stupid); anger (I was angry at my stupidity); hope (I fervently hoped that the teenage ride attendant was a happy, well-adjusted, churchgoing Boy Scout who would never think of improperly latching the restraining bar just so he could watch my wildly pinwheeling body fly across the park and land headfirst into a popcorn cart); hatred (I deeply despised the 95-year-old woman riding next to me, who repeatedly yelled "THIS IS SO COOL!" while holding her hands in the air to demonstrate her courage); fear (I was afraid that the paramedics would get stuck in traffic while responding to the tragic amusement-park mishap that was about to occur); and happiness (after the ride, I was happy to discover that most of my important limbs were still attached to my torso).
As I stumbled from the ride's exit, valiantly battling an overwhelming urge to spew forth my internal organs, I saw that my children were hanging their heads in shame. They now knew that their big, brave dad was nothing more than a genuine wussy with a hyperactive danger detector. Acting quickly to regain their respect, I did what any other humiliated red-blooded American father would do: I promised them that next year, I will redeem myself by braving the most frightening thrill ride known to man, the one that makes your spleen explode.
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Sunnyvale, California Since 1994
