The Moments - Chapter 24: I Have Courage

          While I am not a man who enjoys admitting all his weaknesses, and have sought to master the art of making myself look a bit better than I actually am, I find that being a daddy is the ultimate opportunity to display and face (uneasy though it may be) a multitude of fears, weaknesses, and shortcomings in my life. When these opportunities arise, I try to minimize the display of my weakness to Joey. No father wants his child to worry about his ability to handle a particular situation – especially if that child is fearful at the time, too. It amazes me when Joey himself is the teacher and even the comforter in such cases.
          For about as long as I can remember, I have suffered from time to time with fits of acrophobia – the fear of heights. It isn’t too frequent but can be almost paralyzing. I still love a good mountaintop or high-rise building view, but I’d rather look out than down to enjoy it. Occasionally, narrow or steep stairs or ladders that extend fairly high can bother me, but those are mild cases. The more common problems come about in cases of particularly high, open heights and when my feet or most of my body doesn’t feel stable or secured. While I don’t believe Joey has that type of problem with heights, he certainly has the normal toddler fears about the unknown and the possibility of getting hurt in situations in which he has little control. As he started recognizing some such instances on his own, a common declaration to hear from him became “I have courage.” I often hear him say this when he is climbing up or down stairs (though I don’t understand why he would consider that troubling since he usually sleeps in an upstairs bedroom at his mom’s house). But, he says it over other things too. The realities of my natural fear and Joey’s need to feel safe and secure collided when my parents and I took Joey to the fair last Fall.
          Mama and Daddy and I looked forward to taking Joey to experience the Henderson County Fair. The crowds were bigger than they used to be and some of the rides and exhibits had changed, but it brought back a flood of memories. It was a great night. Joey rode nearly every “kiddie” ride and a few others, the four of us won some prizes at various games, we ate some our favorite carnival foods, and ran into several friends and relatives. The night included pretty much everything I assumed we would experience during our first time taking Joey to the fair.         

          As we covered the rides and attractions in the kids’ section of the midway, Joey paid special attention to the Ferris wheel. This was not the only Ferris wheel at the fair. A larger one stood on the main midway with round, topped, multi-person seats. This was the type of Ferris wheel that I commonly rode when I was younger. The smaller one, which by no means was built as a true “kiddie-sized” Ferris wheel, had two-person seats with foot-rests and safety bars. Smaller, yes, but this was a true open-air Ferris wheel. It also sat on the elevated portion of the fairgrounds that made it rise taller than anything else at the fair. Joey has always been fascinated by Ferris wheels, and I actually thought he had ridden one before. A conversation with his mother a few days later confirmed that I was incorrect and made me understand the newness, for Joey, of the experience we were about to have. We basically attacked each ride in the kids’ section in order, moving ever closer to the lighted rolling marvel.

          As we finished a neighboring ride, Joey reminded me that he wanted to ride the Ferris wheel and that “It’s gonna be so fun!” We got in line and waited. His excitement and anticipation grew, as did my curiosity of whether this would “activate” my acrophobia. Obviously, thinking about it was a bad indication and probably a generator of the problem. I knew this was the kind of height experience that could be a problem for me. After several minutes, it was our turn to board. I had already, without revealing my personal fear, given Joey some basic instructions about what we were to do on the ride – hold the bar with both hands, sit still, keep both feet down (though his couldn’t touch the foot-rest), etc. As the first rotation of the wheel would consist of a lot of stops to fill the ride before it made any complete rotations, I thought it would help Joey get used to this particular Ferris wheel and allow me to ease out of any “phobia fit” that might be possible. We were secured in our cart and went one “click” backward as the next cart was filled. No problem. A minute or two passed and we went back one more click. So far, I was alright, but Joey looked at me with a tinge of fear. He had seen how high we were off the ground and said, calmly at this point, “Daddy, I’m scared.” Uh oh! What to do now? As he had barely said it and I had barely thought through any possible options, we were going back another click. At this point, we were basically sitting at 9 o’clock and I was now also feeling how open and high in the air we were. Acrophobic Chuck was back and screaming out in my mind. I gripped the bar tighter out of reflex and forced a smile as I told Joey to only look at me – don’t look down and don’t look out, just look at me. He had tears in his eyes, and told me again “I’m still scared, Daddy.” I had to put on the acting performance of a lifetime. To hide my paralyzing phobia and try to calm and reassure my son at the same time would be the ultimate mental gymnastics. I repeated “It’s going to be ok, son. You have courage. Just sit still and hold on and listen to me while we’re on this, and everything will be fine.” Meanwhile, in my mind, a chorus of “I’m gonna fall!” was singing out. As the Ferris wheel took us one more click up, still not even at 12 o’clock high, I was running every possible scenario through my head. Should I attempt to signal the ride operator, or get someone else to, to ask him to let us off when we made the first rotation? Would someone else also be having a problem and do the job for us? Was there a way to calm Joey enough to make it through the whole ride in the midst of my own attack? By the time we made our stop at the highest point, I considered all these options. While talking to Joey to try to keep his mind occupied against the fear, I carefully reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone. It was a long shot, but I dialed my mother’s phone in case she could see, hear, or feel it. No luck. As I put the phone back in my pocket and resumed a death-grip on the safety bar of our cart, I started going through every song that Joey likes with a relatively soothing melody. I particularly wanted to aim for one with which he commonly sings along. After several (within a very few minutes) back-and-forth rounds of “I’m still scared, Daddy,” followed by my response of, “I know, son, but it’s going to be ok. Remember, you have courage,” I was ready to change strategy. Right about the time we hit the 12 o’clock position, I turned to Joey and channeled Big Bird from “Follow That Bird” (one of our favorite movies). Leaning toward him slightly, I started singing slowly, “The sun is in the sky, and clouds are rollin’ by, and today is gonna be one wonderful day. Hand in hand together, we’ll be friends forever. Sharing all the good times, happy and free… It’s gonna be so easy goin’… We’ll laugh our cares away on this easy goin’… easy goin’ day.” I stopped after the first verse to check his status. Joey’s face didn’t look quite so terrified, though a little worn from the bit of crying he had done. Surprisingly, he hadn’t interrupted the song to restate that he was scared. We were barely below 3 o’clock on the Ferris wheel now and I assumed would stop another time or two before the consistent rotations began. I was wrong. Before I knew it, the wheel was turning without stopping and my own fears and shivers were running through my body at a fast pace. While my mind and body were telling me that I desperately wanted to get off, I could also feel myself getting in sync with the speed and rhythm of the wheel as it maintained its pace. I looked at Joey and nervously sang the second verse, “We’re never in a hurry. Got no time to worry. We’ll take it nice and easy, singin’ our song. There’s never any trouble. We’re floatin’ like a bubble. La la la la la la... Lighter than air. Why should we care? We’re easy goin’. We’ll laugh our cares away on this easy goin’… easy goin’ day.” I repeated the chorus a couple of times and then asked, “Joey, are you ok?” With a smile, he said “I’m not scared anymore, Daddy. You sang to me, so I’m not scared anymore.” Wait, what now? He said it with such confidence. I wanted to cry – partly out of the temporary exhaustion from what my acrophobia was doing to me, but mostly because Joey seemed to believe that I made a scary experience easier, and even enjoyable, for him. At that moment, I could feel myself stabilizing a bit. Yes, Joey did have courage, and he was sharing some of it with me. We sang a couple choruses of “Easy Goin’ Day” together after that and then talked about the view of the fair for the last minute or so of the ride. While I got off the Ferris wheel with wobbly legs and shot nerves, I was incredibly relieved to see Joey go back to Mama Tee and Daddy J as happy as he was just before we boarded the Ferris wheel. The terror was over. He was glowing. My parents actually wouldn’t have suspected anything was bad up there aside from me telling them (and looking flushed in the face). Joey got on one more ride in the kids’ area, and then we headed back to the main midway for a few final stops before leaving for the night.

          The last thing we did before leaving was to slide down the tall “Fun Slide,” which we had already done two or three times earlier. It was our most repeated activity of the night. As we departed the midway and headed for Mama and Daddy’s car, I walked a couple paces behind to snap a cute picture of Joey holding hands with his grandparents. As I did, Daddy asked Joey, “So, what was your favorite ride at the fair?” As the Fun Slide had been our most frequent activity and the last thing we did, I assumed he was about to say that. But, quickly and happily, Joey told Daddy J, “It was the Ferris wheel!” My mother saw me looking at Joey in amazement. Wow. My son was indeed brave and strong to overcome his fear and anxiety so quickly. He said that singing to him helped it. What he may never understand is how much he helped me in return. One day, I hope that “I have courage” just like Joey.