Tower of Terror!

They made me do it. I didn’t want to. My 3-yr old said, “I’ll go if you go, Mommy.” What was I to do? I don’t want her to grow up afraid of new things. I don’t want her to not try things, because even her mommy is “ascared” of them.

Well. I’m not a fan of rides that make you fall. Standing or sitting, I don’t like that feeling in my chest when something has dropped you, or worse yet, propelled you downward. I’m not even much of a fan of elevators. Going up isn’t so bad, but coming back down is not good, at least to me.

So, when all three other “people” in my family began to bed me to go on this deplorable ride, I said, “I’ll think about it. But not another word about it until the time comes when I have to make the decision.” I tried to use my most authoritative motherly voice, even though no one usually listens to that either. So, both of my children and my husband obliged, and didn’t say anything about it for a few hours.

So, in appreciation for that, and a particularly stupid thought of, "how bad can it be?", I rode on the Hollywood Hotel Tower of Terror at Disney’s California Adventure. Just like in Florida, I thought that I might have a heart attack or stroke and die right there one the ride. It kept going up, up, and up. Then it stopped. Then we turned into ghosts. Then it went screaming down at what felt like 70 or 80 miles per hour and stopped. Suddenly up again and stop. Pushed down again a short way and stopped, with the accompanying bounce, up and down a few times. I thought I had lost consciousness, but then we moved again. I’m still not sure if it was up or down, but down again we went, I lost count of how many times, and finally, finally it was over.

My first words were, “you shall never, ever, ask me to do that again.”