My head brushes against the mascot’s outreached hand. Oh no. I’m tall enough. My father tells me I’m riding the roller coaster.
I say “but, father…”
He tells me I’m riding the roller coaster. We do not fear.
I wait in the queue. The line shrinks, and I’m in the next group.
I must do it now, or never. Do I have to? Will it be OK? DO NOT FEAR. DO IT!!
I flop on my belly. My finger tips, my toes, my spine, and my cheek are all glued to the pavement. My black-belt father can’t peel me off the asphalt. Calmly, but loudly and firmly, I repeatedly state “I DO NOT WISH TO GO ON THIS RIDE. I DO NOT WISH TO GO ON THIS RIDE. I DO NOT WISH TO GO ON THIS RIDE.”
Eventually the attendant intervenes and tells father he can’t let me get on the ride. Then, only then, I start crying in relief.
My friend asked me if I’ve always been such a determined person. I thought of this incident.