Every time we drove past it, a little high pitched voice from the backseat would call out, “Mama, how old am I going to be when I can go there?” I would sigh and say, “Five years old baby.” The lights and colors of the metal monsters beckoned to people from the freeway as if calling out to weary travelers, “Come and ride” and acted as a siren call to kids everywhere promising fun and excitement. Castle Park had to be situated next to the mall (not that I go to the mall THAT often…ha)and one day I gave an offhand answer to a 3 year old’s question, an answer she will not forget. Sigh. The memory of a three-year-old is inconveniently long.
My precocious three-year-old was born somewhat a wimp. Last year, she would scream her little lungs out and grab us with a death grip if we got her anywhere near the pool. This year, she graduated into the pool, but the latest goal was to get her to jump into her father’s arms. Finally, I did what any self-preserving maternal creature would do…resort to bribes. I told her if she jumped, we would take her to Castle Park and she would not have to wait until she was five years old. So, after much posturing, negotiating, deliberating, pretending and eventually half jumping, we ended up at Castle Park.
I love this one after she had negotiated a floatie, but still could not bring herself to jump.
At Castle Park, she plays the skee ball games. And yes, she throws like a girl.
Keep your eye on the ball.
And when all else fails, she will cheat and climb up to the glass and throw the ball in. Score!