In the windswept fields of eternal wishes,

I choose You,


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A Roller Coaster in My Head

My 13 year old son had just gotten out of the shower, excitedly asking if I’ve ever gone on a roller coaster in my head.  Why, no, I don’t believe I ever have.  And, in my opinion, it seems like a very curious (aka odd) thing to do.  I couldn’t even imagine it, when he first said it, as I’d been reading a document I found in The Daily Post through, called “Grow Your Traffic, Build Your Blog.”  My brain SURE wasn’t thinking about being on a roller coaster.  I had to ask how you do it and excitedly he told me…

First, with your eyes closed, you stand with your face in the spray from the shower.  Then you move your head from side to side as if you’re on a great roller coaster ride, kinda jerking it like what happens on those rides.  He swears it was just like being on a roller coaster.  HUH?  I mean, Oh! Cool!  Still obviously not sold on this imaginary r.c. ride, I just wanted to get back to this fascinating and educational article I was reading.  Sonny boy wasn’t going to let it go.  This was something I apparently needed to know more about.  More details were given, more happy feelings were shared, so I pretended I got it and could hardly wait to take a shower to try this imaginary ride.  Was that wrong of me?  I kind of just lied to my dear, sweet boy.  Not a bad lie.  But an untruth.  A falseness.  

Do you get it?  The roller coaster in your head thing?  After kissing him goodnight, I realized that he shared a true glimpse into his imagination.  Not the stories he can tell that keep me spell bound till they’re finished.  Not the novels he’s writing that keep the reader entranced, turning pages until you reach where the story has paused and you want more.  (There are three, currently, with other titles and details written down for future use.)  Not the deductive explanations he shares as we watch Dr. Who or Castle or the other detective shows we’re both hooked on.  But a pure, active, innocent, young imagination of a boy looking forward to the rides he’ll go on this summer with his friends, all screaming their heads off with complete joy, all creating the memories they’ll have when they’re old and wrinkled and achy. I don’t think I’ve ever had a glimpse into his mind like that.  It was incredible.  I’m a lucky mom.