Alright the past few days this blog has been animal heavy, and since that’s not everyone’s cup of tea I decided to go back to regular human stories. This is the story of the worst thing my parents ever did to me.
So every summer on some random night when my dad, uncles, and other adult male relatives were around they set up the horror known as “The Ghost Ride”
We (the children) would pile into my grandparents rickety golf cart and my grandma would drive us at .05mph around The Jungle Book (there’s a description here if you missed it). The adults would get scary masks and hide in the bushes. When we crawled past they would jump out and scream and grab us. The golf cart would always “break down” at least once and we’d be accosted by the “ghosts” it was the worst thing ever.
This is Colleen and me at prime Ghost Ride age.
I was already afraid of the dark. I don’t know why I was forced to do this year after year after year. It never ever got better. I would say, “I don’t want to.” They’d say, “Too bad.” I will admit to being a bit of a wimp as a child, at least when it came to the dark and anything that happened after the sun set. However I don’t think that The Ghost Ride helped at all.
I was pretty much the only one who felt this way, everyone else loved it, at least that’s how I remember it. Once they grabbed my cousin Thomas off the back of the golf cart and my cousin Isobel screamed, “No! Take me! Take me!” It was utter madness.
I hope you leave here laughing,