Growing Up Hurt and Humiliated. Part 7
I've never liked heights. Never. Ever. When I rode in a cable car that takes you from one side of a theme park to another, I grip the pole, and close my eyes, and pray the cable doesn't snap. When my dad made me go to the top of the faux Eiffel Tower at Kings Dominion in Virgina, I dug my fingers in to the walls of the elevator. I just don't do well with heights. So naturally, I don't like roller coasters either. I had managed to never get on a roller coaster for many years, dodging them at every turn. That was until a class trip when I was in the 6th grade. Dad was a chaperon for this trip, and he loves to ride roller coasters. My friends that were on the trip loved to ride roller coasters. So, they would ride while I waited. Safely on the ground below. In what may have been Dad trying to get me into a "man-up" moment, he decided that he was going to goad me into riding one. Seeing as calling me out in front of my friends would probably work, that...