Bemusement park

Delaney announced her plans to go to Holiday World & Splashin’ Safari theme park this weekend. I wasn’t invited. She knew I had already served my time at so-called “amusement” parks – or as I called them, “bemusement” parks.

“Have fun,” I replied into the phone, happy to have a 25-year-old daughter who no longer needed a chaperone anywhere. Still, when she hung up, her fuddy-duddy dad couldn’t help but become nostalgic for our Holiday World visits stretching from her toddler years clear into her early teens, including the following account in 2008 when I was 43 (going on 92).

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It’s a wonder you would’ve even found me at Holiday World. Amusement parks had never amused me, and holidays have proven too often to be major letdowns. But, as parents go, I’m a pushover.

I begrudgingly trudged behind my nine-year-old daughter, Delaney, and her friend, Carson, throughout the burgeoning theme park. At Splashin’ Safari, I lathered Delaney with free sunscreen, a nice park perk, pumped from containers resembling commercial condiment dispensers. It’s possible I actually coated her with mayonnaise.

The first thing Delaney and Carson did was catch The Wave, the name of the wave pool nearest the entrance. An alarm sounded and the pool’s once-still waters boiled with machine-made, authentic-sounding waves, causing children and adults way cooler than me to squeal with delight as they were bumped by the surge of water and bodies. Like when the Titanic was sinking, but with laughter.

I searched for a deck chair. This is where the “safari” part of Splashin’ Safari came into play. During a safari, you hunt. In this case, you hunted for the rarest of finds, an unclaimed deck chair. Towels, beach bags, sandals, magazines – even a solitary sock – were strategically placed on the chairs, claimed by people who doubtfully would even use them, proving that not only does the early bird get the worm, but it also gets the deck chair.

The hidden speakers played surf and sun anthems by The Beach Boys and Jimmy Buffett. The sound of the waves made my eyes heavy, but a dripping, thirsty Delaney and Carson stood over me, both ready to wave goodbye to The Wave, preempting my well-deserved nap atop the last available deck chair.

Holiday World was renowned for its wooden roller coasters, terrifyingly tall, twisty, jerky thrill rides like The Raven, The Legend, and The Voyage. Little Carson asked if I would ride one with him, but I replied, “Why would I want to ride on something that requires a change of shorts (mine, not his) after each pass? Sorry, no roller coasters today, dude.”

“Not even The Howler?” Delaney asked, referring to the park’s neutered, kiddy coaster.

“I thought that’s the one Carson was talking about,” I said.

Another perk at Holiday World were the free soft drinks, as many as you wanted, which I suspected was funded by a network of dentists. Delaney was a pro at the self-serve soft drink machines, moving the same cup from left to right under each selection, triggering a shot from each spigot – Lipton Brisk, fruit punch, Pepsi, Mountain Dew, Diet Mountain Dew, orange Gatorade, Mug Root Beer, Diet Pepsi, pink lemonade – ultimately creating a scary blend of caffeinated variations that even the Food and Drug Administration refused to test on rats.

“Don’t forget the refill,” I reminded, knowing she’d be staying at her mom’s that night.

Holiday World was also recognized for its water slides and other wet rides with catchy names like ZOOMBabwe, Watubee, Otorongo, Bakuli, Bamboo Shoot, AmaZOOM and Zinga. Delaney and Carson, unfazed by the heat, tirelessly joined the long lines, dragging inner tubes up the wooden-planked towers. Seemingly hours later, they shot out, shut-eyed and squealing, from the slides’ exits into awaiting, soothing pools while I baked and brooded.

Sometimes I escaped to a nearby shaded enclosure with a sign stating, “Lost Parents.” How I wanted to be a Lost Parent made in the shade! But the kids kept finding me.

It was easy to understand why Holiday World was a consistent recipient of industry awards for cleanliness and friendliness. It was a marvel, really, how sanitized the park seemed. Near the end of the day, while eating a giant pretzel at a food court, Delaney dropped the soft, twisty, salty dough near my feet and vanished into the nearest Pepsi Oasis drink stand in dire need of one final fix before the drive home. A park employee appeared with a broom and pan as soon as Delaney’s pretzel had hit the ground. The theme park was obsessive-compulsive when it came to being clean – a good thing. The sweeper gave me a skeptical look, assuming, I guess, that the discarded pretzel was mine. She swept it up and walked away in search of more parent crumbs.

On the drive home, the kids were silent and tired. Not even all that carbonation and caffeine in their systems was a match for the exhaustion from all the amusement that Holiday World offered them, this duo of waterlogged wonders, who, in one day – my sacrificial day off from work – was able to experience a slice of endless southern Indiana summer fun. It was worth the admission, I reasoned, recalling their smiles, shrieks and splashes. Like I said, I was a pushover parent back in the day.

Email Scott at scottsaalman@gmail.com.