Here in Ohio, there’s a popular indoor waterpark that’s sort of a rite of passage for families. We got a free pass from our school, so we went for the day because it sounded like the perfect combination of family fun plus newsletter content, and it was both of those things, but also more.
When you enter the grounds of Kalahari, the first thing you notice is how hard they commit to the theme. The real Kalahari is a vast savannah region of Africa. The Ohio Kalahari is past a Kia dealer off Route 250. An elephant statue and a blue lagoon greet you in the parking lot, as if to say, adventurous traveler, you are no longer in a parking lot in Northern Ohio, you have embarked upon a journey deep into the mysterious wilds of a parking lot in Northern Ohio.
Inside, you get why so many people come here. It’s massive, and you can do a whole day without getting bored. In the summer, you combine it with a trip to ride rollercoasters at Cedar Point. In the winter, it gives families a place to break their cabin fever.
The kids ran straight for the medium-sized slides, which they explored thoroughly. Up the stairs. Down the slide. Up the stairs. Down the other slides. Over and over. I’ve heard many parents express the desire to have as much energy as their kids, but I think kids have an unfair advantage when it comes to energy because they have yet to be crushed under the mounting weight of the soul-destroying burdens of the many impossible contradictions of modern life.
Of course, they have energy.
I knew why we were there, but I didn’t know why we were REALLY there until we headed off towards the taller slides. That’s when there was a moment it became clear what the day was really about, and yes, being a writer means looking for meaning in everyday things.
My son likes the idea of water slides that are almost the height of the ceiling of industrial-scale buildings. My daughter does not. While we were walking to the tall Victoria Falls slide, my daughter took my hand and said, “Dad, I want to do this, but I need you to say some words to me to make me not afraid.”
Sometimes, as a parent, you’re ready for a moment. I said a bunch of words that seemed like the right ones.
“Baby,” I said, “lots of people ride these slides every day, and they have lots of fun. Nothing bad happens. All of these kids here are having fun, and you will, too. I would never take you to a place where something bad can happen. These slides look scary, but that’s what makes them fun.”
“OK,” she said.
Before the day was over, we rode Victoria Falls together six times.
As for my son, he’s still there. He lives at the waterpark now, sleeping in the ventilation ducts at night so he can ride the slides all day. He has evolved gill-like organs on his neck. Every now and then we get a postcard in the mail smudged with mini corn dog grease, and we know he’s OK. We miss him, but being a parent means supporting your kids’ dreams.
I’m only being slightly hyperbolic. My son never stopped riding. We hit almost every slide, many of them 3-4 times, which gave us a lot of time to talk and to hang out, but also to observe.
Something I noticed while standing in line with kids and teens all day was that none of the young people had screens because water destroys electronics, which is a real credit to water in my book. The youths were forced to talk to each other like it was 1991 or something (minus the teen smoking). It was heartening to see that girls can still chat with each other endlessly in real life while boys even today enjoy the art of playful physical assault.
The only bummer came late in the day, and it was my fault. After climbing hundreds (thousands?) of steps in my bare feet, I stubbed my toe near the top of Victoria Falls, which is the closest I will ever come to being a British explorer. I yelped so loud that the teen boys in front of us stopped hammer-punching each other for a few fleeting moments. I’ll spare you the details, but there was some light gore.
We went to the First Aid station, and I explained to the medic that I’d bashed my toe. He cleaned and wrapped it while we chatted. I asked him if it was OK to go back in the water, and he looked at me like it would hurt his feelings if I didn’t. I’d make that man my primary care physician, if I could.
Except for the part where I injured myself while performing common everyday movements, the day was great. We had fun, and if you’re a child of a certain age (like my daughter), it’s a controlled environment where you can confront some fears and call your own shots and have a growth experience that is thrilling and repeatable and safe. Someday, she won’t need her dad by her side to say words to make her not afraid. That makes me a little sad to think about, but it’s the job.
If you enjoyed this piece, check out: Dad, does everyone die? It’s more uplifting than the title suggests! I swear.
This gave me all the feels.