Riding High
by
Jeff Stimpson
The Victorian Gardens in Central Park is a cute
amusement park for kids under five, with rides like Family Swinger,
Circus Train, Red Baron, Crazy Trolley, and the Samba Balloon. This
will be my first visit with both boys.
The sounds of fun echo through the trees; color
flashes through the leaves. "Go on train!" says Ned, 2, lugging his
red stuffed bull. I tried my 5-year-old Alex here a couple weeks ago,
but he didn't want to go on anything.
Again today Alex hangs around the picnic tables and
scarfs Cheese Doodles with grandma and our babysitter. Ned tosses Red
Bully to me and bolts toward Circus Train. I load him into the
locomotive, and he sits securely buckled as we chug off. I sit behind
him and make sure he doesn't stick his head too far out on the curves.
Next is Red Baron. The attendant tells me to pull
down on the lever to make the two-seater plane on the ride go up. Ned
and I rise and start circling against a wild blue wonder cut by the
tops of skyscrapers. I take us high as I can, and spy my wife Jill
down on the ground. I snap her a salute. Ned jabs the machine-gun
button.
I want to try Family Swinger, where we'd sit in a
seat hung by chains and go up and up, and get spun around and get
sick. Ned fits in the seat, but I soon see I haven't had a hope of
fitting into this seat since ninth grade. I haul out Ned and find
Jill, who says: "About you and Ned going up in that thing: Are you
insane?" I say I thought it'd be fun. "It'd be 'fun' to see your
2-year-old go flying off into the trees?" she says. What's the
problem? I'd go find him in the bushes.
On Samba Balloon, we sit in a round booth that rises
on a pole, and a wheel in the middle of the booth lets us spin the
whole ride. I'm heaving us into a fast twirl before I recall that I
had pizza for lunch. After a few twirls, Ned's smile freezes and he
looks down. He's got my stomach, I think.
He recovers to hit The Trolley, a lively ride: The
turns are sharp, and jam Ned's solid little weight against my side.
"Hang on, Ned!" He copies the other kids by letting go of the safety
bar. His arms shoot up and pierce the bright setting sun. "Ned, put
your hands down!"
Over by the picnic tables, I see Alex is out of
Cheese Doodles, our babysitter out of gas. "We have to go, Ned," I
say, and here Ned introduces his own little ride: The Meltdown. He
casts himself to the ground, wails, and lunges toward Samba with the
desperation of one who's tasted the freedom of a wild twirl. I try to
put him on my shoulders. He tries to kick my head off. I almost forget
Red Bully.
"We have to go, Ned!" I slip him off my
shoulders and reach for his hand as we head out of the gate. He
squirms away. He will leave this fun behind on his own two feet.
Copyright 2003 Jeff Stimpson, all rights reserved
