I remember fondly sitting on my dad's foot holding onto his leg, my arms wrapped around it like a tree tree trunk. He would walk up and down the hall of the trailer we grew up in and it would feel as if I was being lifted dangerously high into the air before being dropped back to earth with a resounding boom. I felt as Mickey must have when facing the giant. Near insignificant to this mammoth of a man. Traversing in seconds a vast distance in my mind. I would close my eyes and feel the air whoosh past my head. I loved it. It was my introduction to thrill rides, my first roller coaster. I enjoyed that ride till the distances became short, the heights not so high, the foot not so big. I still miss the feeling of everything rushing by, the ground falling beneath me, and feeling completely safe.
We always went to a condominium resort for my dad's company picnic. It was a ski resort in the winter, so it was on top a mountain in the Appalachians. Once a year the family would take a long drive to the mountains where we would swim and eat and have a grand ole time. My dad, I'm sure, did work related things, but maybe not. We would be there several days, I could not say if it was a weekend or weekdays. it was the summer, and in the summer the day does not matter, it's what you did with it. We had a great time, every time, no exceptions.
So we were driving to the company picnic in an old style late 70's, early 80's Chevy wagon. This thing was a behemoth. It burnt fossil fuels the way my Grandpa burnt Buglers. It had enough room to comfortably sit 6 people with room for some of them to be laying about sleeping, others to be wrestling and the ones in the front to be shouting at the ones wrestling.
It was late as we made our approach up the mountain to the resort, I not sure what time, because I had just woken up. There was not any light so in my mind I would put the time as very dark. If you have never been in the woods at night with no moon to speak of, then you know what I mean when I say the dark was dark. My dad has the hammer down to get this monster of a vehicle up a mountain, and we we experience a slight jolt as we crest the hill and pass our turn in to get to the condos. The car moves on by the entrance and begins its descent down the side of a mountain. My dad says "Huh....the brakes aren't working" glancing calmly down. My mother on the other hand is a worrier. We joke that she had the market cornered on worry and guilt. She starts just repeating my dad's name and punctuating it with oh..God. In a disturbing fashion looking back perhaps the same sounds were made at other times as there are four of us. Ohhh...now I want to pray to God, to forget that I thought that. it sounds like some sort of weird mantra "Ray, Ray, Ray, Oh God.." and repeat, increasing in tempo as the Station Wagon increases in speed. As we careen down a mountain side in a vehicle that weighed enough that gravity took a serious toll on it. I give my old man credit, he deftly maneuvered through sudden turns down a dark mountain road while my mother's volume increased (You know, in case he hadn't heard her) while my siblings slumber peacefully. I am leaning over the front bench seat, weaving back and forth between the headrests, eyes locked on the things briefly illuminated by the headlights. The headlights seeming to be the fixed object, while all the road and trees swerved in and out of them.
Suddenly there is a break in in the woods, the road makes a 90 degree turn, and ahead...Blackness. The turn is impossible, even for my dad. The speed is too great we are are going to fly. There is no fear, only the feeling of immortality that God grants most children. My mother is not so blessed, her mantra rises to a scream, culminating in a "this is it". We all wonder what our final words will be when the white horse comes to carry us away, even fewer know. While I know now what the words were than, and they may have changed since. My dad' were "Hold on" like we were about to go over railroad tracks, instead of into the great black of night. I had no words, just a rictus grin of excitement, leaning more forward in anticipation of some great event, absolute faith in my safety, my dad's abilities, my car's toughness, faith that the world around me would continue with me in it, not inside it, faith fueled by action films and The Fallguy.
My faith held true as we peeled into the black, not a drop off the mountain as it had appeared in the night, but a plowed cornfield. That field slowed our vehicle enough that my Father was able to bring it under a modicum of control, swing it back round, point the giant metal dart at the proper direction and at a sane speed. He brought it to a halt at a small gravel lot at the entrance to the road we just "launched" out. The ride was done, the car had come to a complete and final halt. My mother woke the other children with hugs and kisses born from a happiness to be alive, to be able to hug, to be able to kiss, to just be. My dad exhaled. I remember it clearly because he did it loudly. And me, I had to pee. It was the most fun a boy could have asked for and beat the hell out of the following weekend of swimming pools, hot tubs, and good food.
