Adventureland, a place where dreams come true

Last night something special happened. I enjoyed the past and the present at the same time. I’m not sure which felt warmer, the distant memory or the joy of experiencing the present. But whatever the mix, it was a great night.

It was Labor day. The day farthest from the beginning of summer. It heralds the first of fall and the beginning of school, while thumbing its nose at those who love warm weather.

We spent the day over at the lake with most of my family. It was gray, cold, and windy… pretty standard lake weather. Mostly we stayed inside, which kind of gets crazy with a bunch of kids running underfoot. So after about as much total mayhem as we could stand, everyone, loaded up their cars and headed in different directions to return to their busy lives and life after labor day.
We had it easy. We drove ten miles home and plopped the kids in their beds for naps. While they slept, Debbie and I sat on the couch discussing ideas for our last night of summer fun. We figured most everything would be closed and resolved ourselves to an uneventful night at home.

It was at that moment, when all seemed bleakest, that an idea came to mind, and the brilliant idea poured forth from my mouth, “How ‘bout Adventureland?” It sounded like a winner to two people desperate to extend the summer. I jumped up, grabbed the phone, and called to see if they were opened.

On the other end of the line, a lady said, in some accent, I didn’t recognize, “We open to ten o’clock.”
Energized by the prospects, we dressed the kids, threw some fish sticks in the microwave for our finicky eaters, and made our way to Taco Bell for a quick dinner before we tackled Adventureland.
I should explain to the reader that Adventureland is an American icon of entertainment. As a boy, we traveled passed it each year on our way to the lake for our vacation. Lustfully, we stared out the window at the miniature golf course, the giant slide, and some rusted rides scattered about knowing we’d visit her sometime during our stay.

It eventually came, and it was usually the coolest night of vacation. We’d throw on jeans and sweatshirts over our freshly sunburned bodies and pile into several cars for the short trip to the park. Twenty minutes later our caravan pulled into the parking lot, and Dad, a few moms, cousins, brothers, and sisters would pour out of the cars, soak themselves down with bug spray, and walk the path to the main building. It was like entering a sacred shrine filled with more than the mind could imagine or the heart could desire.

From behind a tall counter lined with golf clubs, a little old man or lady took our money and handed us a small putter and a ball of our choice and color. Usually, we argued and fought for a special color and eventually worked out a compromise to every player’s liking. With that behind us, we stepped from the brightly colored building and began our 18-hole adventure.

Now, Adventureland golf was a far cry from those putt-putt courses with nicely manicured Astroturf greens, bright orange perimeters, and meticulously maintained sterile play areas. It was more like playing golf in a storybook. There was a giant gorilla on hole two, a tiger poised to pounce on hole seven, carousels and paddle boats, closing doors and mysterious holes that took your colored golf ball to who knows where. Not to mention water traps and sand traps that would make Tiger Woods break out in a sweat, but we were young and naive and laughed in the face of danger.

As if it could get any more wonderful, blue and red lights flooded the course, adding to the mystery and enchantment of the night, while tiny fountains danced in the light and laughter.
It was a place where dreams came true, and it was like a friend of the family.
Over the years Adventureland aged along with those who challenged it. The gorilla leaned to one side, and a cage was added that kept it from toppling over and squashing some young towheaded golfer.

The once proud tiger was demoted to a token spot where he kept an eye on the giggling kids and their parents. One by one the doors quit moving, the water traps were drained, and the sand traps that held pristine white sand now looked more like dirty ashtrays filled with leaves and candy wrappers. But even in her decline and evident wear, she was still the queen of miniature golf parks.

Even when a new adventure place opened across the street offering all kinds of new fangled attractions, we insisted on spending the evening at our favorite place. We were loyal to her. After all, she was family. We grew up there, and she was ours.

That brings us to last night. With Taco Bell heavy on our breath, we pulled into the parking lot and were shocked to find our van the sole occupant. A cold, northern wind that smelled of autumn filled the air, and we decided to forgo the bug spray. Walking up the broken sidewalk, we passed a graveyard of old rusted rides that once terrorized young riders who grew up to have children of their own. The batting cage that was near the main road was banished to the back lot to sit out its remaining days in rust and decay. From somewhere, I thought I heard “Taps” being played.
I guess someone saw us approach the main ticket building and got all excited because halfway there, the power flipped on, granting life to the arcade games and an ancient skee ball game that cousin Erin lost a small fortune playing.

The once shiny temple of amusements felt old, dirty, and most of all good. Strolling through the building, we went on to the playground that was added about eight years ago to give little kids something to do while their bigger counterparts spent their money on batting machines that could have pitched to Joe Dimaggio, had he ever come to Adventureland as a kid, which he probably didn’t.

At the playground, a teenager, wearing a skull on the back of his black T-shirt, came out to sit, watch, and leap into action just in case we wanted to ride the little train that made its fifty-foot journey around the dirty playground. After inquiring, he informed us that it cost $1.50 per kid to ride. I, being my father’s son, stated rather loudly that I’d never spend $4.50 to have my kids ride something that would last the whole of 20 seconds. So we gathered them up and made our way to the little metal building that housed an air hockey table, a pool table, and some old electronic shooting games that used lights instead of lasers.

The building also served as the entrance to the trampoline area where a dozen trampolines waited to be ‘trampolined’ for a significant fee. As kids, we jumped and bounced until we collapsed or our fifteen-minute limit came to an end.

When we walked into the building, it was ghostly silent. The fluorescent lights flickered in the empty building. It was like going home to find that your house was condemned and vacant. Sadly, I lead my family back to the miniature golf counter and purchased two tickets for Ben and Sam.

The kids chose their clubs and colored golf balls (they were too young to know the real advantage of having a red ball over a green ball), and then we stepped out onto the course.

The sun had dropped below the tree line, and the red and green lights cast a faint glow over the course. There was still some magic in the old girl, and I was transported back twenty years. I half expected to hear one of my brothers run up from behind and cry out, “I wanted the red ball.” But instead, giggles of excitement bubbled up from two little boys as they ran to the first hole.

Over the next hour, we made our way up, over, and around all 18 holes, my boys excited about each one, exclaiming and explaining each hole to us as though I wasn’t already intimately acquainted with each. They pointed to the tall gorilla that was missing most of its hands and once snarling teeth as it rested against the building near hole two. They oohed at the carousel that rotated as their ball crossed its floor. They peeked in the paddle boat’s paint-chipped door and stepped through the dry water traps that I splashed in when I was their age.

I relived each hole they played, remembering the times and the people of long ago. But as they played, my attention left the putting greens and old memories. Something else had captured my attention. It was two small boys running from hole to hole, their faces beaming, and a little girl who had her head resting on the shoulder of the woman I love. And it was then that I felt it… that feeling of warmth that is kindled when you realize that you’re in a special place.

Parents need a place like that. A place to revisit from time to time with the people you just can’t live without.