Publisher's Synopsis
Roller coasters are the pulse of any great amusement park. While waiting in line, you have a front-row seat to the heart-pounding adventure you are about to experience. The thunderous rumble of the coaster as it navigates the steel highway of twisting turns, loops, and drop-offs that are borderline illegal has your undivided attention. In minutes you will be one of those passengers who is offering screams of joy or pure terror, debating whether you're brave enough to raise the roof as the ride approaches a cliff to weightlessness. The adrenaline bolting through your body causes held breath as you plummet at an impossible angle while approaching speeds of 150 m.p.h. At least one time the thought of There's no way this thing is staying on the tracks taunts your mind as you're rocketed skyward. Then it's over. While the emotions of relief and excitement are ping-ponging around inside, you have a decision to make-go again or find the funnel cake stand. That's how our mornings feel with the Boy, our four-year-old son. Except when the clock strikes noon, we don't have the option of finding a food stand. We must get right back in line and prepare for the perpetual roller coaster that defines our days. He is the keeper of our hearts, the provider of nonstop entertainment, and the raiser of our blood pressures. His big brown eyes, thick locks of hair, and adorable yet devilish smile are befitting of a Gerber jar and will have you concluding "This child is an absolute angel." Suckers. Underneath his angelic exterior is a TNT canister waiting to detonate the moment anyone or anything interferes with what he deems fun or as "MINE!" When the day is over and the ride has stopped, we say prayers, kiss him good night, and thank the heavens for such a beautiful gift. And then pour a drink.
