Pops

Father's Day came and went as it always does with very little celebration in the peanut shell mind of mine, but it is important none the less.  I always look at the tattoo on my arm and the memory/specter of my father flashes through my mind.  As a really young kid, maybe 6 or 7, I was deathly afraid of heights.  My dad, I guess you call him fearless or irresponsible, threw me on a roller coaster called the Jackrabbit at Kennywood park in West Mifflin, PA.  In my mind, West Mifflin is Pittsburgh, but in reality, it actually isn't.  Anyway, my dad tosses me, quite literally on this roller coaster that climbed 90 feet or so into the air.  The only thing holding me to my seat is a leather strap, much like a barber's sharpener, and my pop's arm.  He wore a smile the entire way.  I cried the entire way through the ride.  This coaster, not to sound super geeky here, included a double dip segment.  It was built in the 20s, I think and was made by John Miller....coaster god!  Anyway, it had this segment of track where the hill is interrupted by another hill, much like a rabbit hop.  My father, I swear, protected me from flying out of the car.  Therefore, I owe my dad my fear of "getting over heights" by force.  The ride ended.  I swear, tears in my eyes, balling from earlier, all I said was, "Let's do it again."

Thank you dad!