My brother was a toddler. I sported glasses and bangs. My sister was barely double digits. If only I could blow away the haze surrounding this long-ago moment. The foggy memory leaves a lot to be assumed. Although, I remember the car ride was long; longer than any I’ve endured before. I remember it took me years to realize we went out of state for the vacation. In my defense the surroundings were all still pine trees, Maine, New Hampshire, New Hampshire, Maine, there was no difference in my young brain. I barely knew there was a world out there beyond my cartoons and coloring books. 

     As the trees and cars went past the window from my seat in the white van my father drove and music played on the radio. While the ride was what I recounted as a long continuous blur, the arrival is an inkling more vivid in my mind’s eye. My father pulled into a dirt clearing of a trailer park, full of rental RV’s and a playground, right across from the amusement park we came for. The bright colors of the amusement park were what caught my eye and caused my head and body to shift to look out the back window. 

     A big sign adorned the words “Santa’s Village” and a towering, metal ride made to look wooden, the main attraction, the “Log Flume” stood front and center of the amusement park, visible from my position. My little heart leapt with excitement, only later would I learn that we were settling in today and I’d have to wait until tomorrow to venture into that wonderland. 

     I jumped up and down in my seat and plastered my face to the window. I saw other children and families, there just like I was, to do just what I ached to. Some fathers grilled burgers, some mothers sat in a lawn chairs and sipped lemonade, some children ran around, laughing and playing. My father parked. I opened the sliding van door. I hopped out and let my legs stretch. I ran towards the playground but had to return as my mother called my name. I quickly lugged my stuff inside the small, quaint RV we rented for the weeklong excursion.

     “Can I go play?” I asked, yearning for that swing set. I saw it. I wanted it. 

     “Not yet,” my mother said.

     Of course not. 

     My excited mind agonized over the unpacking, over the waiting. Finally my mom gave the go ahead and I bolted to the playground, eventually exhausting myself with the swinging, running, and playing. Let’s just say I slept well that night. 

. . .

     The time had come. We stood at the entrance to the amusement park and gazed our curious look over all we could see. After quickly buying the tickets we ventured in at last. While I still held my mother’s hand, I was nervous. The nervousness was soon overpowered by pure joy, however. While my father held my young brother, barely able to mutter words, my mother accompanied us on the rides. There was the play train, suspended at least fifty feet in the air, showing a landscape view of the wondrous dreamland. There was everything my young mind could imagine or want. There were sweets, rides, and petting zoos. The summer air was perfect, not too hot, not too windy and the sky was clear, the sun covered us in warm rays. The smell of food the vendors sold was prominent in that summer air, fries, cotton candy, such a sweet aroma filling my lungs and such a sweet taste on my tongue.

     Following that and a few other rides was the ever coveted “Log Flume”. My mother, sister, and I filed into the long, plastic, hollow, “Log”, and it begun. A slow buildup, an amusing trip through fake scenery, fake animals, all along a narrow waterway guided by metal bars under the log. I kicked my legs in the log excitedly, feeling them bump against the plastic, a smile wide on my face. I was in the front, front and center. Then the incline started, a forty-five degree angle to our doom. Or at least my heart raced like it was. We rounded the crest, my heart in my throat and my eyes as big as sand dollars, the sounds of rushing water surrounded me. At the peak of the amusement park, quite possibly the highest point, the log rushed down the decline, spraying water out its sides like a car going through a puddle, dousing our shirts and faces with water. The thrill of it filled my little body with adrenaline. The rush continued to make my heart race as I staggered from the log, using my father’s hand for balance. I laughed and smiled, a smile that stayed plastered on my face until we left.

     After all that, amongst all the shenanigans, I even got a souvenir, in remembrance of that adventure that feels like a lifetime ago, still so significant in my memories. A magnet, commemorating that I found “Elves A to Z”. That was the only interesting prize though, considering both my sister and brother got it too. They still all have their rightful place on my refrigerator today, after so many years have passed. 

     I look at those sometimes and give a halfhearted smile. If only it were more vivid. If only I could go back to that fun time, before I was exposed to so much, when my heart and head were blissfully ignorant. However, I’m sure, I’ll find something to excite me just as much as that “Log Flume” did, something just as exciting as that Christmas in July.