Life Isn’t “Worlds of Fun” Anymore
Missing my Dad in a world of fear
When I heard that Kansas City’s Worlds of Fun was bringing back the Zambezi Zinger rollercoaster for its 50th anniversary, my stomach lurched up to my heart as if barreling down one of its hills. I didn’t want to ride the attraction again. My degenerating back would never handle the bumps, twists, climbs, and plunges.
I longed to feel Dad’s arms tight around my waist and my back braced against his chest as we ascended a hill. I wanted to feel safe, like I had as a child, knowing that as long as Dad was behind or beside me, nothing bad would happen.
I haven’t felt safe since September 11, 2001. Dad was still alive that day but well into the dementia that killed him less than two years later.
Rushing into the dining room that morning, I looked at Dad, sitting at the table, spooning cereal into his mouth without taking his eyes off the TV, not saying a word.
As we watched the reports from New York, the Pentagon, and Pennsylvania that day, my dad was unusually quiet, even for him. I’m unsure whether the terror was too much or if he was having flashbacks from his time as an Army Air Corps waist gunner in WWII. It was the final blow to Dad’s already fragile psyche. He was never again able to reassure me that all would be well.
