Chapter 3: Michelangelo
"My turn, my turn, my turn!" Michaelangelo greets us on our return.
"I trust you also have something fun planned, my son," I say to my "youngest"- for I have always considered him the "baby" of the family.
"You bet, Sensei! April helped me set it up! Come on, or we'll be late!"
It seems I owe a lot of this day to Miss O'Neal and Mr. Jones.
Just when sitting down with a nice cup of green tea would be most welcome, I am once again whisked away for "father/son fun".
Fortunately, we do not go above ground for the trip.
Unfortunately, we do travel by one of the water jet skis my sons use down here.
I do not understand this desire for speed.
Or this business of wearing disguises to have "father/son fun".
And where, exactly, is "Coney Island"?
April meets us again, with more disguises.
Another dangerously crowded place- outside by the ocean.
Perhaps we will take a quiet walk along the beach- I have longed to visit the ocean.
"Come on, Sensei! We're gonna have a great time!" my son says, pulling me towards a place with frightening contraptions that people are strapped into, screaming for help.
"Which first, Sensei? The Big Dipper or the Crack the Whip?"
More talk I do not understand.
"You choose, my son," I politely reply.
I am wishing I had insisted we return to the beach.
Lots of fast "rides" in seemingly unsafe containers; up and down steep hills at unbelievable speeds; spinning until one feels as if one's soul has been drained out of one's ears.
"Coney Island dog?" He generously offers me a very smothered hot dog- one can barely see the meat.
But my stomach is still on the thing called the Tilt-O-Whirl, and I turn him down with as much tact as possible.
"I am fasting until dinner, my son."
"Oh, well, waste not, want not!" He makes short work of the food.
Alas, it is time to go- he looks crestfallen.
"Thank-you, my son, for this most- educational of days," I say. He grins even more than he usually does.
As the ancient master said, three down, one to go.