As a kid, I remember enjoying amusement park rides – the height, speed and spinning made for hours of laughter and gleeful screams. I sat alongside my sister at the very tip of the Buccaneer, in Keansburg Amusement Park, anticipating fun. Painstakingly, I watched as the empty seats were filled one by one, by one, by one. The metal bar pressed tightly against my belly assured me that I was locked in place – no turning back now! The sweat gathering at the backs of my knees, dripping down my leg and into my jelly-glittery footwear, betrayed my courageous appearance.
The operator, sun kissed, drenched, burnt or drunk sadistically smiled and without warning flipped the switch. My sticky summer palms gripped the safety bar and my dangling feet danced with delight. The Buccaneer delivered not only thrills but penthouse views of the ocean. The salty Jersey Shore summer breeze unfastened rebellious hair strands from a carefully constructed braid and they screamed freedom!
I never wanted to come down. Peering at the crowd beneath us, I felt larger than life. As this joy ride slowly came to a halt, I reluctantly peeled myself from my seat and skipped down the metal floor. As I walked away, I glanced at the people gathering for their turn on the Buccaneer and I felt a tinge of jealousy. I scowled and menacingly scanned the thrill-seekers to see who dared take the seat at the summit, which was ours.
Just like that, the day was over, so we rode back home on the Garden State Parkway, in a cherry red Monte Carlo with high hopes for one more day on the Buccaneer.
There are innumerable childhood memories I can recollect with a gymnast’s agility. The curled telephone cord pinched by the bathroom door, (until I disconnected it); the proverbial, “you can’t go unless you take your sister;” and the tag teaming of chores we needed to complete before my mother returned home from work. There was bribery, which included quarters for the arcade in exchange for uninterrupted conversation on the land line. My sister’s countless Elvis movies, unwillingly watched by me, and our mutual discontent at our brother’s Houdini like escape – not once, not twice, but every time he needed to clean his room.
On the rare occasion our brother came into the fold, we plotted anarchy. How could we protest, strike and overthrow this dictatorship? There were impromptu meetings, post admonitions and disciplinary actions. I secretly harbored the belief that like Little Orphan Annie, I too would be adopted by a rich family. Until this day, I believe my brother planted and watered this seedling.
The recollection of childhood is fickle, we somehow manage to see it as the best or the worst of times. We unknowingly construct or rearrange memories like furniture or chess pieces. But some things are evidenced in black and white, ink or photographs. There would be no rich family coming for me, I belonged to this tribe.
I recently found a picture of my brother, smiling holding up the infant version of me toward the sun, with pride. Our relationship has been mired by rivalry and colored by life’s experiences but it is grounded in affection.
Few relationships in our lives will ever be as important as the ones we have with our siblings. They are an automatic built in GPS for navigating the craziness of family. I have been blessed and challenged throughout my days by these lifelong teammates – my sister and brother.
And oh, how I love them and they love me.
DID YOU KNOW? Lake Compounce, in Connecticut, opened in 1846 and is considered the oldest, continuously operating amusement park in North America.