I love rollercoasters.
Rundles and the Old Prune restaurant people might remember our late-summer staff outings to Canada's Wonderland.
Those play days came in the nick of time—when we were walking home at night like zombies after 12-to-16-hour days and getting up in the morning feeling old when we were still in our twenties.
Our humour with the 5:30 customers who declared in a state of panic they had to get to the theatre on time was wearing thin. Like this was our first time at the rodeo.
Hard to believe we agreed to spend a day off together. I'm so glad we did. I think some of you were too.
Cold fried chicken, macaroni salad, date and lemon squares, and frosty beverages sitting on blankets in the shade of trees outside the gates.
I took my Syrian kids to Canada's Wonderland. Members of our sponsorship group paid the costs.
The two oldest, Batoul and Abdullatif, convinced me to go on the Leviathan. I threw all caution to the wind because I wanted them to have fun forever.
I sat between them as we plunged 180 degrees toward the ground—Formula One level G force.
I let go.
With kids who loved me on either side, I'd won life's lottery.
Rayan and Mohammed went on a ride too wild for me—four times.
Later we all went on a spinning top that went so high up we could see the tourists at Niagara Falls. We were all glad when that touched down to earth. Me and Abdullatif staggering around in the grass trying to regain equilibrium.
Going down the water slide in our own lane at the same time. Getting out and running back up the stairs to do it again.
Wet footprints on the pavement overlapping.