The Cruelty of The Zipper

Every year at the carnival, my oldest daughter hopes she's a little bit taller. Navigating the height requirements, and a child's emotions alongside it, is a tough journey.

Meet The Zipper, a ride at our local carnival. Photo Credit: Dreamland Amusements

My daughter and I like to set goals, as a way of gaining confidence. For a few years, it was going to the pool, identifying something slightly scary that my daughter was definitely ready for but needed a little bravery to get over the hump, and making that our end of summer project. “Before the pools close, we’re gonna do that.”

One year, it was a slide, because getting on it required taking off your swim goggles, and she was still getting used to swimming in the water without them. The next year, it was the small diving board. And the year after that, it was the big diving board. 

A few times, I’ve bribed her with a few dollars, a child’s form of liquid courage. In most instances, she forgets about the bribe, because she’s having so much fun after. Another time, a friend helped her negotiate a bigger payday. I doubled the payout.

Our next goal was connected to a source of endless frustration: the local carnival, where she’s always an inch or two short of being able to get on every ride, an emotional frustration that runs much deeper than a yearly festival that rolls by us. 

More specifically, it was about climbing a very particular mountain we’d eyed for the past year. Say hello to…The Zipper.