It was just a regular day at Darien Lake, an upstate New York amusement park.
My daughter, her friend, and I were standing in the usual long, snaking line to ride the park's roller coaster, called the Viper. It was our first ride of the day, and we like roller coasters, both wood and steel.
In line with us was a group of teenage African-American girls. They were passing the long wait by joking and laughing and just having a good time. In their care was a little girl, about nine years old, just barely tall enough to reach the magic mark of amusement park adulthood that earns access to the Viper.
It is the life of the crystal, the architect of the flake, the fire of the frost, the soul of the sunbeam. This crisp winter air is full of it.
Being a parent is like jumping out of a plane with a bunch of people who can't open their own chutes.
A little boy is telling his Grandma how "everything" is going wrong: School, family problems, health problems, etc. Meanwhile, Grandma is baking a cake.
"Never allow someone to be your priority while allowing yourself to be their option."