Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Throwing Up For Jesus

So we’re not so great about going to church, but the Catholic guilt does kick in every once in a while. We decided to go to the church fair with the family. It’s still church but with rides and fried food. What could possibly go wrong? Slather on the sunscreen, everyone in their hats, great. Tick tick tick tick….

Our six year old daughter is a bit of a daredevil and wants to go on every ride immediately. Some of the ones looked tame, and then there were the ones myself or my wife has to go on with her. I like amusement park rides, but carnival and fair rides I’m not as huge a fan of. And after this day, even less so.

Bella picks one of the rides that looks like one of those mini swing rides that every amusement park has, the one where you get strapped to a large swing and it goes up and around in a circle. Fine.

So I’m in line with Bella and then I notice something I hadn’t noticed before. The weird umbrella swing ride was going faster and faster. I was starting to have some doubts. My wife and son came over and she said something casually like “I would go on with her but I don’t have the right shoes.” Really?! Man, why didn’t I think of that? Such a lame excuse but it confused me long enough for her to walk away.

So I got on the ride and it started off fine. I had been on those giant swing rides before with Bella and no problem. She started laughing, having a great time. But then with every revolution it got faster. And faster. And faster. Too late, I realized the ride was a centrifuge disguised as a swing ride. All the platelets were spinning out of my blood.

Round and round, faster and faster and then the ride did something that sent me over the edge. It was going up and around, on an angle, way too fast, and then the basket/seat started swinging from side to side. I had had enough. Time to be the no fun dad. I held out for as long as I could.
Every time I went past the carnie, I yelled “stop”.

After five times, he stopped the ride and I stumbled off. Bella, however wanted to stay on but she couldn’t ride alone so she gave me a 6 year old hissy fit while I was trying to figure out how not to get hit in the face with the ground.

I soon caught up with the wife and son. She saw how pale I was and we sat down, drank some coke and they all had some ice cream. I thought “This will pass, right?” And… no. Twenty minutes later I had to announce I had to go home and obviously couldn’t drive. We drove home with the kids upset but I think the church was pleased we spent some money at least. Catholic guild appeased.

It was a horrible ride home, we stopped at every light and I felt like my stomach didn’t. I got home, ran into the bathroom and puked my guts out like I was at my bachelor party. Only this time it didn’t taste like kamikazes. So I was throwing up, but for once it was for a good cause.

When I finally recovered my wife said to me “Awww, you just wanted to go on the ride with your daughter so she could have fun. You’re a good daddy.” Wow, unexpected bonus points. But from now on, when we go to a fair or a carnival, I’m bringing the wrong shoes.

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