Daddy, Can We Go Ride the Rides? by Sharon Waters
Westgate Shopping Center was THE place to be. In the summers, rides were set up in the parking lot: there was a carousel, Ferris Wheel, small wooden roller coaster, bumper cars, tea cups, and a few others that no longer come to mind. I was all in. On hot, summer weekend evenings, in the days before air conditioning, riding those rides was one of the best ways to cool off. Dad would take me on the weekends – spending money in short supply for our family – just to give his little girl, facing much in the years to come, a bit of joy. As the wind lifted and twisted my hair on the rides, worries about impending cleft palate surgeries and a planned conglomeration of steel and wires meant for my teeth, fell away from me like dandelion wishes. For a rapturous hour or so, what awaited around the bend was not in my sights.
I preferred avoiding crowds from the early days of my life. It was hard enough watching the eyes of people I knew gravitate to my tightly pulled upper lip, deflated left nostril, and the tomato-red scar running from my nose to my lip. In a crowd, the curious gazes from people I knew didn’t give a damn about me were hard to handle. For these carnival outings, Dad made sure he was never more than an arm’s length away. He stood up for me in more than one bullying situation and I knew he would do it again.
Dad was fearless when it came to rides. If they crawled to dizzying heights before plunging to a stomach-twisting low, he was game to give it a try. If the seat of a ride could spin or whirl its passenger to nauseating giddiness, Dad was up for that, too. He loved riding the Ferris Wheel with me. All you could hear from the top – the prime spot to be when the operator lowered the lever to stop the wheel – were the exclamations of others below enjoying the view. I had no idea I was glimpsing what many would eventually pay big money to see and experience in Asheville: the skyline and the French Broad River expanding for miles in any direction.
But the carousel was my favorite ride. Two rows of intricately carved and fancifully painted horses rode side-by-side, round and round, in an eternal gallop – some with their mouths open as if panting to get ahead. I fell into a trance watching the vivid reds, blues, pinks, blacks, and whites whir by as I awaited my turn. My favorite horse invited me, with its white body, long flowing mane, and pink saddle, to join it in a fantasy. Dad would stand beside me guarding my ride, protecting me from taking a tumble. His hand, resting on my leg as my foot gripped the stirrup, felt like a warm embrace. When Dad decided it was time for other children to have a chance to ride my horse, I would reluctantly climb off. I knew I would be back, though. I became drawn to the moments that carousel gave me of feeling like a princess streaking across the Scottish Moors on my horse instead of waddling through life as the ugly duckling I believed I was.
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Often, I have felt as if I was again riding that white carousel horse – galloping around and around parsing through the chaff of my childhood. I still long for Dad’s company and his quick eye to point me to a deeper understanding of what the faded scar on my lip and the patched roof of my mouth has meant – just as he drew my attention to the gorgeous sights of Asheville from the Ferris Wheel at Westgate Shopping Center.
Artist’s Statement
“Daddy, Can We Go Ride the Rides?” is a flash nonfiction essay from my memoir-in-progress, Bella Voce. Having been born with both a cleft lip and palate, my childhood was fraught with physical and emotional challenges. During my adult journey, I’ve come to believe my voice – whether it has been expressed through writing, my speech, or through musical gifts – has served as my shining star because of the “clefts” and all that came with them. I would not change a thing.
Sharon Waters holds an MFA in Creative Writing from West Virginia Wesleyan College. She has a play published in 30 Short Plays for Passionate Actors, published by All Original Plays, and has been published in Longridge Review, and now, MicroLit Almanac. Sharon has also won contests in Emerging Prose and Poetry through West Virginia Writers, Inc. She is Appalachian born and bred and currently lives in West Virginia. Sharon is at work these days on a memoir and a novel. Her author website is currently under construction at www.sharonwaters.com.