The Smartt View

There is only one reason Americans like me flock to amusement parks every summer. The reason? We completely forgot what it was like the last time we went to an amusement park in the summer.

For me, the conversation always goes something like this, “Lisa, would you and the boys like to go to Six Flags for a few days with me and my kids in July?”

“Absolutely! We’d love to go! Can’t wait! Count us in!” Magical loss of memory at work, friends. If you’ve never gone to an amusement park in the summer, it’s my responsibility as a newspaper columnist to inform and educate.

In July an amusement park is a concrete jungle heated up to 140 degrees. When the park staff can fry eggs on the asphalt, that’s the signal to open the floodgates and let in the masses. After handing them a significant portion of our kids’ college fund, I was already in a full sweat. But don’t worry. $10 worth of frozen lemonade will numb the brain and you’ll never know what hit you.

If you bring preschoolers (which is a sign of marginal intelligence), you may be wondering if there’s anything available in the amusement park for them to eat. Yes, yes. A thousand times yes. Once their little heads are dripping with sweat and they’re crying out to ride the merry-go-round for the fifth time, buy a huge cotton candy twice as big as their head. You’ll soon have a happy sweaty sticky kid pumped up on sugar who can’t nap in the stroller because it’s now 150 degrees. But don’t worry. The cotton candy only cost as much as a nice meal in your favorite restaurant (a restaurant that has air conditioning).

I don’t ride the rides. I consider myself a designated non-rider. The way I see it, someone in your party needs to be able to maintain a clear head and keep their corn dog down. That’s my job. It’s also my job to hold cell phones, baseball caps, and giant turkey legs. Actually, I draw the line at turkey legs. Poultry is never a good pre-cursor to a ride on the Scrambler.

Once your kids are nauseous from the rides and covered in sweat, a good upstanding amusement park will provide plenty of stores. Stores where your children can see all kinds of stuff they need. Silly hats. Expensive t-shirts. Stuff to put in their rooms so they can never forget the day they got heat exhaustion. Stuff for you to hold the next time they ride the Scrambler.

If you find yourself rather miserable in the late afternoon, look around and you’ll see that your misery is shared. At that point, the only real amusement is watching the pregnant woman with three kids trying to get cotton candy out of the baby’s hair with a wet wipe.

I don’t want to discourage any of you from a trip to an amusement park this summer. Who am I to discourage you from this chunk of Americana? Just be prepared. Know your limits.

What’s that? Are some people too old to enjoy a day at an amusement park in the summer? Yes. There is definitely an age limit. According to my personal research, the age limit is 50 years and 10 months. Don’t question me. My research is flawless.

Six Flags Over Crazy

There is only one reason Americans like me flock to amusement parks every summer. The reason?   We completely forgot what it was like the last time we went to an amusement park in the summer. For me, the conversation always goes something like this, “Lisa, would you and the boys like to go to Six Flags for a few days with me and my kids in July?”

“Absolutely! We’d love to go! Can’t wait! Count us in!” Magical loss of memory at work, friends.

If you’ve never gone to an amusement park in the summer, it’s my responsibility as a newspaper columnist to inform and educate.

In July an amusement park is a concrete jungle heated up to 140 degrees. When the park staff can fry eggs on the asphalt, that’s the signal to open the floodgates and let in the masses. After handing them a significant portion of our kids’ college fund, I was already in a full sweat. But don’t worry.   $10 worth of frozen lemonade will numb the brain and you’ll never know what hit you.

If you bring preschoolers (which is a sign of marginal intelligence), you may be wondering if there’s anything available in the amusement park for them to eat. Yes, yes. A thousand times yes. Once their little heads are dripping with sweat and they’re crying out to ride the merry-go-round for the fifth time, buy a huge cotton candy twice as big as their head.   You’ll soon have a happy sweaty sticky kid pumped up on sugar who can’t nap in the stroller because it’s now 150 degrees. But don’t worry. The cotton candy only cost as much as a nice meal in your favorite restaurant (a restaurant that has air conditioning).

I don’t ride the rides. I consider myself a designated non-rider. The way I see it, someone in your party needs to be able to maintain a clear head and keep their corn dog down. That’s my job. It’s also my job to hold cell phones, baseball caps, and giant turkey legs. Actually, I draw the line at turkey legs. Poultry is never a good pre-cursor to a ride on the Scrambler.

Once your kids are nauseous from the rides and covered in sweat, a good upstanding amusement park will provide plenty of stores. Stores where your children can see all kinds of stuff they need. Silly hats. Expensive t-shirts. Stuff to put in their rooms so they can never forget the day they got heat exhaustion.   Stuff for you to hold the next time they ride the Scrambler.

If you find yourself rather miserable in the late afternoon, look around and you’ll see that your misery is shared. At that point, the only real amusement is watching the pregnant woman with three kids trying to get cotton candy out of the baby’s hair with a wet wipe.

I don’t want to discourage any of you from a trip to an amusement park this summer. Who am I to discourage you from this chunk of Americana? Just be prepared. Know your limits.

What’s that? Are some people too old to enjoy a day at an amusement park in the summer? Yes. There is definitely an age limit. According to my personal research, the age limit is 50 years and 10 months. Don’t question me. My research is flawless.

One of my goals in life is to be skinny at a family reunion. I don’t know. I’ve just always thought it would be cool to walk into a family reunion and have Cousin Betsy ask Uncle Harold, “Who’s that tastefully-dressed, tall, skinny, blonde woman carrying quiche in a designer pie plate?” It hasn’t happened yet. They always seem to recognize the loud, tall, chubby, blonde woman wearing cheap Capri pants and carrying a bag full of chicken fingers. Go figure.

Family reunions are a graphic reminder that God has a sense of humor. Eighteen years ago, when my husband and I were preparing to adopt a baby, a concerned friend said in a quiet voice, “Lisa, you guys should be careful. With adoption, you never know what kind of kid you’re gonna get.”

After a hearty laugh, I said, “Are you kidding? You should come to our family reunions. No place to go but up, Sister. No place to go but up.”   Of course, I wasn’t making fun of our wonderful extended families. I was making the point that none of us are as genetically superior as we might like to think. When we look at our wonderful teenage sons (both adopted as babies) we hold to our original declaration, “Adoption: smarter, better lookin’ kids.”

Every family I know has a wonderful conglomerate of personalities and physical characteristics and we should be proud of the rich diversity. There’s almost always at least one super-smart though socially awkward person. He or she tends to provide a monologue about the latest space discoveries or a detailed description of how fireworks are made. Then there are the fun though slightly irresponsible members of the family. They’re the ones who can tell a joke better than anyone but they forgot to bring food for the dinner and they may need a little gas money for the trip home. Thankfully, there are always the quiet and super-responsible folks who brought enough food for an army and put a few $10 bills in their pockets just in case someone’s tank was on empty.

No family would be complete without the “family informer.” This is the person who keeps up with the news about every person in the family, those present and those we haven’t seen for years. “Uncle George finally sold that bass boat and is planning to take a vacation to Arizona even though it’s godlessly hot out there.” “Cousin Louise is feeling under the weather…probably because she ate that questionable potato salad at the church picnic last Sunday.” “Aunt Tillie is feeling so poorly that she didn’t put out any squash or okra this year. She’ll likely be dead before Christmas.” No one is critical of the family informer. We have to believe her intentions are noble. If they’re not noble, well, bless her heart anyway.

Phil and I are blessed with precious extended families. We all have different political views, different occupations, different personalities and priorities.   And no, not all of us are connected by blood. We’re connected by something far greater. Love. Commitment. Understanding. A willingness to forgive. These are gifts from the hand of God. Gifts that are often delivered in a simple way by a simple group of people called…family.