It is our first trip this year to Fantasy Island.
Here is my nephew George, 6, hoping that he was not too tall to ride the Red Baron. That is George up above on Fantasy Island's classic slide, dating to the 1950s when parks were parks and rides were rides and Leonard Pennario was America's best-selling pianist. After riding the slide -- I went down right behind him -- Georgie wanted to ride the Red Baron.
He was not too tall. But we think this will be the last summer when he is not too big to ride these quaint little Herschell World War I airplanes.
Georgie made a friend riding the huge, wonderful Silver Comet. They sat in the front car and I sat behind them. Here we are waiting for the train. That is our George on the left.
Once we get settled on the train, while the attendants are putting the lap bars down, George asks the kid in the orange, "How old are you?"
The other boy says, "Seven. How old are you?"
George is 6 and does not want to admit it. So he says, "I forgot how old I am."
"Are you 6?" the other boy asks.
George stuck to his guns. "I forgot. I don't remember how old I am."
Stuff like that happened all afternoon. It was a beautiful day. I think heaven must be something like Fantasy Island, the sun shining, the roller coasters running, all the little kids getting along with each other, all the grown-ups getting along with each other, nailing each other on the bumper cars.
The bumper cars. I am laughing and laughing.What happened was, the gal running the cars did this long, long, spiel about the rules and regulations. We're all sitting there, waiting for the ride to start. When she's finally done, my brother George speaks up from his car.
"Excuse me," he says.
The girl looks over. "Yes?"
"I have a question. Are we allowed to drive as fast as we want?"
All of us are dying laughing.
So much fun!