Do you remember when you were a little child and your parents took you to the carnival? Do you remember the boat ride for little children that went around in a circle? When I was very little, that was my favorite ride. I loved it. I wanted to ride it first every time we went.

Gliding around in a boat all by myself, dragging my hand in the water and watching it swirl as I sped along all alone like my dad did in his ski boat: that’s what I loved. I’d jump up and down and beg to ride it. I thought about it in the car all the way to the carnival.

Alligators in Wonderland

Amarillo had a children’s ride park called Wonderland. That ride was the definition of the park to me.

Then one night at Wonderland my big sister went with us. Brenda and I were always torturing each other, probably because we were so much alike. All four siblings constantly aggravated each other. I could tell you stories about that, and I may, but not today. Leave it at this: we always owned each other, even when I was very little.

On that particular night, as we walked under the giant magical gates (remember I was very young and small so the gates seemed enormous) and approached the gliding boats, Brenda leaned down to my ear when no one was paying attention and whispered, “There’s alligators in that water, and they’ll bite your hand off if you put it in.” Then she walked away, and I stared at the water under the boats. I ran up to the side and looked down under the boats: the water was clear and there were no alligators, but I thought they might be hiding. I was scared. I couldn’t breathe.

My mother handed me a ticket and told me to go get in line, but I couldn’t. I was too afraid. I never rode the boats again.

Ever After

Every time we went after that, I’d stare at the ride when we first entered, and I watched it as we passed by. I missed that ride like it was my first good friend who moved away.

To this day (I’m sixty years old) I feel an urge to look down into that water. I still regret that I didn’t have the courage to challenge my sister’s whispers and do what I loved. That regret has stayed with me all my life: I’ve never forgotten it.

Don’t let fear, or what someone says, stop you from what you love or intend to do. Many times in my life I’ve put on that regret as if it were a cloak, wrapped it tight around me and stepped forward past my fears and doubt. As I raised my children (without telling them the ridiculous story, of course), I taught them to push forward regardless of their fears or anyone’s else’s naysaying — even when I was the naysayer.

How could I do otherwise? I told this story as an adult to Brenda and she didn’t remember saying it. To her, it was just one of many long forgotten counter-attacks in the constant war of growing up together. But for me, it was an early hard, important lesson, one that I’ve carried through my whole life. Thank you, Brenda.