There is a longstanding tradition in my family based on a former job-related perk that used to come via my Dad (but has been removed since the recent economic situation): an annual trip to the local amusement park. When I was a very young kid I can remember standing in line with my mother for roller coasters as my dad (an avid non-rider) would find some shade under a tree and some space on a nearby bench to relax while we stood waiting. It was always a thrill to ride the rides. Since my father received this perk annually it became a tradition for us to go each summer and endure the heat, humidity, and large lines and crowds in order to get some thrill seeking into our lives. Even though this annual tradition is no longer funded directly by dad’s occupation, he continues to fund the event for the sake of his grandchildren to continue this tradition.
Just recently we were fortunate enough to take our son for the second time to this amusement park. The first time he was really too young to enjoy anything. Even the daintiest rides meant for the smallest of children with moms and dads holding them on their laps (for the comfort of safety) left him feeling less than at ease. This time he was able to ride three rides before falling asleep (the lines were quite long). His favorite, by far, was a ride that simulated (if that’s the appropriate word) riding in a hot air balloon. We got into the balloon — mom, dad, grandma, and our little boy — strapped ourselves in and prepared to soar through the air. To say he enjoyed the whole ride would be dishonest. However, the beginning of the ride was filled with wonder. We really did go up in the air. We really did travel through space. He could look up at the balloon that took us somewhere (and he’s always liked balloons). Next year he’ll probably like these things even more. Time, as always, will tell.