The first thing you need to do is log on to YouTube and watch the video, “Never Again, Grace Elizabeth.” There you’ll see a father who, for love of his daughter, gets on a roller coaster ride with her and is terror-stricken for every single second of the three minutes that he is strapped in his seat as he is flung to and fro hundreds of feet up in the air; meanwhile his daughter giggles with utter delight beside him.
First he moans, then groans with eyes closed, until all hell breaks loose as he launches into a full-blown shriek fest interrupted briefly by tearless sobs, an expletive here and there and an admonishment of, “Never again, Grace Elizabeth,” in full scream.
I was in stitches and gasping for air the first time I saw the clip. That was how funny it was— so funny I had to watch it again and again. But on the succeeding runs, sympathy set in. It was still hilarious, especially since most women rock during coaster rides, and here was a grown man totally losing it in front of his daughter. I started feeling bad for the father because that was raw terror on his face — something he had to endure for three solid minutes. Then again, come on, it’s a roller coaster! So I laughed again — and again — this time with my daughters, who I dragged over to watch with me.
We then searched YouTube for more clips on terror-stricken men on coaster rides and found dozens. There is one of a middle-aged father with an adult son who loses all composure, wailing away during the ride, until his son says, “Dad, stop. Don’t. Please.”
Another was of a bride-to-be who managed to convince her father-in-law to get on one with her. He wasn’t happy. I wonder if that wedding ever pushed through.
And yet another was of a father to an adolescent daughter who, unlike the rest we’ve seen that had abandoned all composure and had thrown all macho-ness to the wind, suffered in dignified silence with a slight grimace here and there but pulled off a grand finale at the ride’s close by up-chucking what must have been the morning’s meal.
I shouldn’t tell, but several men I know are exactly the same. One gave in to my repeated and not-so-gentle proddings for a day at the amusement park and found himself — against his wishes — strapped onto The Demon, a roller coaster at Great America Park, with an 80-foot drop, multiple loops and corkscrews. He was comatose and horizontal on a bench where I had parked him for the rest of the day as I bee-lined for two more goes at The Demon and all the other rides.
Another one, a racecar driver (no, seriously), got nauseous after a coaster ride with an inversion loop and hovered on the verge of Pukeville for an hour or so. I should have taken the cue from that one time we went go-karting previously. After one run around the track, he had to sit motionless with feet up on another chair, head tilted to the ceiling, falling asleep in the process and letting out a snore or two. When he came to, I just had to ask, “Are you sure you’re a race car driver?”
And yet another one flatly refuses to enter the gates of any amusement park, not even if you swear he will do nothing more than hang around Sleeping Beauty’s Castle and Peter Pan’s Ride. He responds with a flat, non-negotiable, resounding, “No!”
It is a puzzlement why men are mortified of coasters because most of the designers of the world’s amusement park coaster rides are male engineers. Eric Minton, writer for Psychology Today, writes: “Designers behind amusement parks’ most popular attractions — roller coasters and haunted houses — are mostly male and are master manipulators of our deepest fears. They exploit our most closely held vulnerabilities.” And yet why are so many men afraid to ride them?
Minton explains: “Coasters feed on the basic fear: loss of control. Once a coaster takes off, passengers can do nothing but sit, or on some rides, stand, and scream. You realize you are not in charge.”
According to Michael Boodley, president of Great Coaster International, Inc. of Santa Cruz, California: “All roller coasters play on two related — and universal — terrors: fear of heights and fear of falling. Traditional coasters provide an excruciatingly slow build-up to the plunge. There’s a lot of self-torture on that lift. Your own mind puts you in a state of paralysis.”
Modern coasters up this vulnerability quotient even further with recent innovations: inverted cars, which suspend riders below the track, heightening the sense of speed and danger because riders are disoriented. Not knowing where the bottom is and where you come out intensifies the fear and suspense.
Boodley adds, “Anytime you put a rider in a situation they’re not used to, there is an element of the unknown and for 80 percent of people, fear is the unknown.”
True, but how come most women don’t get discombobulated on coasters as men do? (EDITOR’S NOTE: This is debatable.) It has to do with the issue of control. More women are comfortable with handing the reins of most anything over to someone else — most of us were socialized into that predisposition. Men, specifically type-A, take-charge personalities, are all about control and anything that divests them of that power has no place in their lives.
The mother of my 14-year-old son’s friend, whom I was discussing this with, said, “How about business ventures, money market placements, gambling, even? Those are male-dominated forums and they’re no-control situations as well.”
“Not entirely,” I replied. “They do involve elements of chance but men take calculated risks in these ventures — unlike coaster rides where their feet dangle in the air 100 feet above ground and they plunge deep into the unknown, around loops, and then catapult 100 feet back over the horizon in a vehicle with no driver.”
My friend countered, “Maybe they’re just afraid to lose it and scream their heads off.”
“That, too.”
“That’s probably why they get nauseous and out of it after a forced ride. It’s all that unexpressed fear they bottle up throughout. Unlike us: we scream our guts out. They should scream. It helps. It’s like an exorcism of all that fear,” she said.
“True, that’s probably why that YouTube dad ended the ride with a smile — sort of. He screamed his tonsils out.”
“Definitely,” she said. “He’s actually the brave one — letting it all hang out like that on YouTube.”
“And now he’s famous.”
“Yeah, but still,” she said. “If I were a man I wouldn’t want to be famous that way.”
“His daughter appreciates the gesture,” I said in his defense. “To her, he’s brave.”
“What about your son?” she asked. “Does he like to ride roller coasters?”
“No,” I replied.
“Not once? Ever?”
“Never.”
“Mine neither.”
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Thank you for your letters. You may reach me at cecilelilles@yahoo.com.