Pssst... Your Childhood is Calling
I'm just going to come out and admit that I had never heard of KiddieLand until a few days ago. I apologize. Somehow, despite being the Julie McCoy of my household, this Chicago institution had never hit my radar. Then, on Friday, my husband sent me this email from a friend:
Justin,
I never quite forgave my dad for failing to take me to Ebbets Field before the Dodgers moved out of Brooklyn at the end of the ’57 season.
Likewise, your sons now have a last chance to visit KiddieLand, which is closing late this month, forever. We’re going on Sunday – are you interested? Don’t let them down.
Jack
Please. How could we say no to that? Never mind that we had no idea what or where this place was; our parenting credentials were on the line, our children's emotional development, their very futures were at stake. Well, at the very least they might turn out like Jack if we didn't go.
On Sunday morning we Google-mapped KiddieLand, got in the car, and headed out. It took us the better part of an hour, and once we got there we had to park in an overflow grass parking lot and then walk across what seemed like several neighboring towns to get to the park. Then, once at the ticket booth, we encountered the longest line ever assembled by humans. This thing could be spotted by satellites, I'm sure of it. Did I mention it was 90 degrees?
Oh, the whining, the complaining, the fidgeting! The kids, however, were rather well-behaved.
Finally, we were in! The beauty of KiddieLand is that you pay an entry price and then go on any and all of the rides as many times as you want. We started out slow, testing out the two Carousels, then the Elephants Ride, the Roto Whip and Dune Buggies. Soon we were ready for the Little Dipper, an original wooden roller coaster from the 1950s. I hadn't been on a roller coaster in decades, and my sons had never been on one, and this one was perfect. If not for the seen-from-the-skies lines, I'd still be on that thing.
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