Today a good story. Last fall I went to Disneyworld with my daughter, her husband, daughter and son. It was the first time for all of us. For months we had talked, planned and been on My grandchildren made lists of all the rides they were going on-together. Oh, the adventures they would have. Side-by-side they would try it all.

My granddaughter is twelve and born to take risks and try new things. My grandson, eight, is cautious, thoughtful and often fearful. Our first night was in the Magic Kingdom and the test was Splash Mountain. I, of course, no longer go on rides that are any fun, so I waited while they braved the line for their first adventure. All the way through the line there was excitement that had been building for six months, waiting for this night to arrive. There were also recorded messages and talk from other people about the step drops, drastic curves, darkness and other sundry scary moments on the ride. At the ride entrance my grandson decided he wouldn’t go on and he and his mom waited with me.

The next day another test-Tower of Terror. This time he didn’t even get in line but waited with me. For forty-five minutes he and I waited in somber silence for Mom, Dad and Sissy to return. When he saw them coming he ran to them, grabbed Mom’s hand and proclaimed his decision to go on the Tower Of Terror ride, NOW!

According to my grandson it was “awesome”. He was grinning with dimples I had never seen. According to Mom he shook and stared and wrung his hands through the entire ordeal. As the ride ended he said to everyone in the car, “Did anyone else think that was an awesome ride?”, as he threw up his hands in victory.



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