We took our children to a fair. Not “The Fair” – if you are in Texas you know “The Fair” has Big Tex and fried everything – but to a fair. Smaller. Still had a midway and coupons though, which makes it a fair.

We arrived at the fair in the heat of the day and at dinner time. Why didn’t we eat before we went to the fair? I can’t explain that one. But I will tell you that for $20 worth of coupons you can get one large coke, one large lemonade, and two large corndogs. We shared them because we weren’t about to spend $40 for the four of us to eat something on a stick. Then we headed to the midway.

Will wanted to go on a ride. He wanted to experience the rides but he backed away from each one when we asked if he wanted to get on it. The problem here is that, much like his mother, Will has anxiety from “what-ifs”. I don’t want him living his whole life afraid of “what-if”, so I volunteered myself to go on a ride with him. Because if I’m not afraid of something, he feels like it’s perfectly safe for him to do. Mom will never lead you into danger. 

I picked a ride in front of us. It had no line. I grabbed 16 coupons from Chris and we walked up the stairs to the ride. 16 coupons was probably like $80. We got in our little seats. I explained to Will that this ride was just going to spin us around. Probably. I hadn’t seen this ride in action, I just decided we’d ride this one because it didn’t have a line to wait in. I searched the ride, while buckled in, to see how this thing was going to work. While I am in no way an engineer, I do understand point of rotation. 

I noticed this ride was not attached at the bottom, but at the top. Upon further inspection I noticed that I could rock the cart from side to side. I looked over at Chris when our cart started moving in a circular motion, except we were going backwards. I mouthed “Wrong Way” at him. He mouthed back “Good Luck.” 

Very loud music was playing on this ride. Very loud. Heavy, screamy, thrash metal music. Over the very loud music the ride supervisor spoke sinisterly on the intercom “Welcome to the Death Scorpion! I want to hear you scream!” Generally not a good sign.

A sudden rush of responsibility hit me. I hadn’t seen this ride in action. I had NO idea what I was in for. And I hadn’t even bothered to look at the name on the ride before loading my only son into this cart with me which was harnessed at the top by a bolt. One single bolt – and it was rusty. I remembered a Dateline episode about carnival rides and shady inspections of rides. Just as I was coming to the realization that the Death Scorpion was probably more excitement than I had wanted and definitely more excitement than Will was ready for, the music got louder and the arm that was spinning us backwards in a circle now started to move up and down in a sickening motion. I realized the only other people on this ride were pre-teens and teenaged boys. No 30 year old mothers and their 5 year old sons. This was not the ride to take a child on if he’s never been on anything more exciting than the merry-go-round.

We were spinning around very fast while getting blasted with very loud trash metal music listening to pre-teen girls scream, moving up and down in a raft-in-open-sea-during-hurricane manner. I think it was Hell. In fact, I’ve since realized if a ride has something in its name which indicates death, hell, or something else unpleasant I’m just going to pass on it. 

The ride continued despite my internal pleas to make it stop. I’d long since given up saying “This is fun, isn’t it?” I was now saying “No-no-no-no-no-no!” Will, when able to, would look at me with that look you get when you have endangered the life of your child and he knows it. He clutched the safety bar with one hand and my arm with the other. I clutched the safety bar with one hand and his leg with the other. We were going to die together, holding on tightly.

Between the screams of the pre-teen girls on the ride and the very loud music Will said “You’re trying to kill me!” and “I hate this!”

I yelled back “I bet it’s almost over!” and “Please, God, make it stop!”

Here’s the thing about carnival rides. If there aren’t people in line, they’re going to let you ride for a while. They might as well. The screams from the riders will surely attract more business. Plus, on one of our sideways fly-bys of the control stand I clearly saw the kid operating the ride had just received a cell phone call. I also was keenly aware that if Will and I threw up $20 worth of soda and corn dog it was not only financially irresponsible, but we were going to attract some attention. I decided to use the up and down motion to my advantage. During the up swings I spotted an area to the side secluded enough to do some good “I’m too old for this ride” and “He’s too young for this ride” vomiting. We were just going to have to find a way to get over there.

Finally, either through serious answered prayer or due to the end of the cell phone call, the Death Scorpion slowed down. It came to a halt. I raised our safety bar and Will said “Let’s not tell Dad we were scared to death, ok?” “Ok.”

We forced ourselves to walk straight lines to where Chris and Reagan were waiting for us. And the thing is that I didn’t have to tell Chris how much Will and I hated that ride because he could tell. And he’s just wonderful enough to suggest he would like to sit for a little while next to the perfect spot to have privacy to throw up, just so Will and I wouldn’t have to say anything. 

 I mentioned to Chris how wonderful it was that he could read my mind.  He didn't say anything.  He smiled and pointed a finger at my arm and a finger at Will’s leg. You could clearly see hand marks on both of us where we had clutched on each other during our first - and last - mother/son carnival ride.