The Story of My Life: 1996

Why title a chapter with a single year? Because this year took me on a whirlwind of a ride that I'll never forget. January stormed in (literally) with a massive blizzard dumping over three feet of snow upon our area. At the same time that blizzard hit, my brother Nathaniel was born. For those of you keeping track at home, that's four kids now. Three boys and a girl. I remember those days being quite crazy as my Dad had to constantly shovel snow to keep up with the weather and the snow plows and also commenting how the stores were lacking bread, milk, eggs, and all those other food staples due to the blizzard. On top of that, he and my mother had a newborn to deal with. But for me, it was a blast. Three feet of snow was a child's dream. Snow forts could be built incredibly high and deep, guarded by a snowman army that took a couple of days to construct. The hills would not show green grass for well over a week thus allowing for endless hours of sledding upon them. But the best part was after a long day of snow adventures, a steaming mug of hot cocoa and a movie while snuggled up in blankets were waiting for us. 

Sometime between the spring and summer, five year old me asked my mom if I could call Grandpa (my Dad's father). She dialed up the landline and handed me the receiver. I'm pretty sure my grandmother answered and made me talk to her for a bit before putting Grandpa on the phone. Once he was on, I asked him if he could pick me up and we hang out. Of course he got permission from my mother first and she was more than happy to have him take me out of her hands for a bit. But what she didn't know was that I had a mischievous plan in play. I was sitting on those concrete steps eagerly awaiting the arrival of that light blue pick-up truck. As long as I knew him, my grandfather drove pick-up trucks. If fact, he still drove them to the ripe old age of 91.  It was always an exciting moment when it appeared around the corner. Once it did, I jumped off the steps, shouted "Bye Mommy" and hopped into Grandpa's truck. I then promptly asked him if we could go to the store. We drove into Hanover and stopped at the K-Mart (now on the verge of extinction in 2021). We wandered around the toy aisles for a bit and I had a blast pressing all the buttons on the toys that said "try me" on them. Eventually we found ourselves in the Lego aisle. All I had at that time were the giant Duplo blocks from my toddler years. Those and the yearly Toys R Us (RIP) Big Toy Book made me want to own some actual Lego sets of my own. As my eyes grew bigger at each set I looked at, my eyes fell on a specific one. It was in a small blue box and on the outside was a picture of a red, white, and blue airplane. Appropriately named "The Patriot Jet", it called to me. Not yet being fully educated in manners (or forgetting them in the moment), I asked Grandpa if I could have it. To my surprise and delight, he said yes. Now here's the thing. That set cost $19.99 in 1996. Which was a lot for a toy back then, especially for a five year old. And on top of that, my Mom wasn't there to say no. Lego plane now purchased, we made our way back to his truck. I thought we were going back to Grandpa's and Grandma's house, but Grandpa had to get me back by dinner. We got back to my house and I flew up the steps to the front door where my Mom was waiting. Upon seeing that I got into the house fine, Grandpa tooted his horn, waved, and drove off. "Look what I got!" I exclaimed to my mom. Her jaw dropped as she realized what I had done. She couldn't believe I had asked my grandfather for a toy like that and that he actually bought it. I spent a good bit of time putting that plane together and it became a main staple whenever I played with Legos at home. Like many sets I owned later, I took it apart and built other things with it. It wasn't until I was in my college years that my nostalgia hit and I wanted to rebuild that plane. Thankfully I had most of the pieces and the ones I was missing I found online. That plane is proudly displayed in my room to this day and is a daily reminder that in 1996, my love for Legos was born.

Summer of 1996 topped the one in 1995. This time around, I was in for a three trip treat. I returned to both Hershey Park and Ocean City, but the third trip was to Wisconsin where my mom's side of the family resides. The second Hershey trip consisted of the exact same crew as last time, but my dad came along as well. There wasn't any extraordinary thing that made this visit different from the last, but it was still a magical experience nonetheless with my summertime crew of Becca, Zeke, Chalene, Cam, and Joe. 

I do want to highlight this second Ocean City trip as three more people were involved and there are some stories that I can't leave out. Joining us this time were both my grandparents from my mom's side and my newborn brother Nathaniel. Now I'm not the only one in my family who has a very retentive memory. It turns out Nathaniel does as well. There was an afternoon we were all on the beach, enjoying the sand and the ocean. Nathaniel was strapped in his stroller and was facing the water. At one point the wind picked up and the sun was bright. We looked at Nathaniel and thought he was getting sand blown in his face. My mom turned his stroller around away from the wind. Now here's the kicker. Nathaniel was only about six months old at this time. One night years later when we were reminiscing on this trip, we brought this memory up and Nathaniel piped in "Yeah I hated that." We looked at him like he was crazy. He said "I was happy looking at the ocean and no I was not getting sand in my face. Then y'all turned me around and left me to stare at...sand. It sucked." He remembers that from only being six months old! 

We avoided the previous year's no kite fiasco by bringing our own kites this time. We brought them on the beach and began flying them happily. Then at one point I see my dad take off down the beach. At the last second before he disappears from my site, I saw him chasing a kite. Apparently a burst of wind came by and yanked the kite from Sarah's child fingers. Thus resulting in my Dad chasing it down the beach. He did eventually manage to corral it. Later that day, I was playing with my bucket when a man walked by and gave me a starfish he had found on the beach. It was the first time I ever saw a live one. I filled half the bucket with sand and added water to it. Then I put the starfish inside and brought it back to our rented house. My parents only let me keep it for a day before I had to return it to the ocean. That one was lucky. I managed to catch one on my own the next day, but my mom wouldn't let me keep that one. So after admiring it for a bit, I tossed it back into the ocean like I was throwing a rock. At that moment, a seagull swooped down in the area where the starfish landed and then took off. I heard my Mom mumble "Uh-oh. I hope that bird didn't eat that starfish." Then she looked at me wondering if I knew what was going on. I didn't, but I did hear her and I was sure then that the bird failed. But today when I replay that memory in my mind, I think there's a good chance that the starfish became lunch that day.

The Wisconsin trip was a big deal because it was the first time I could actually remember being there and a number of "firsts" happened during that trip. But I'm going to save that one for a chapter of its own as there's many things that happened on that adventure.

The last major life event of this year was that in the Fall, I began school. However, it was anything but ordinary. My classroom was my basement and my teacher was my mom. I was officially a home schooled student. And I was going to remain one for the next seven years. My desk was a large, circular, wooden table. My mom had a large, black, metal desk. The rest of the "classroom" consisted of a washer, a dryer, a freezer, a couch, a TV, and a bunch of toys. The floor was a weird black slate tile with colorful patterns on it. If you didn't wear socks or shoes, it turned your feet black. There were a couple of windows so at least we had some natural light. To make it feel like more of a classroom, my mom put up educational posters all over the walls, along with a small blackboard and dry erase board. 

Home school had its advantages as well as disadvantages. The pros were that as long as we covered the daily material, we could start whenever we wanted and finish whenever we wanted. Most days I started at 8:30am and be done by 1PM. But as I got older and got the hang of things, I simply studied my mom's lesson plan and was able to do most things myself except for a test or new lesson. By the 6th grade, most days I was done with everything by 11AM and had the rest of the day to myself. I had one on one attention meaning there was no rush to get to the next lesson and I learned what I needed to know before moving on. Our summer vacation was longer. I'd be done with homeschool by the first week in May and not have to start again until very late August. I also didn't have to be stuck in my house every day. If we wanted to do a field trip day somewhere we could. If my mom wanted to send me over to Alice's (the mother of Melinda and Joanna) to do computer work, she could. And lastly, I had very little homework since I did it all in class. The cons of this however was that I didn't get extended holidays (2 weeks winter break and spring break), I didn't have the privilege of learning with peers and making friends in school, not being able to participate in extracurricular activities or school events, and my least favorite, having to go over all my math homework in the evening. This was because my dad is the math whiz of the family and it was easier for him to go over it with me after dinner. It was only my least favorite because it left me little time to play between dinner and bed-time when I had to do it. We'll talk about homeschooling more in later chapters as it can't be summed up in a paragraph or two.

As I continue through the years, I'll flashback or dedicate certain chapters to stories as certain parts of my life are better put collectively. Not all years will be like the bliss of 1996, but that's life is it not?

The Story of My Life: Take Me Back to That Ocean City

The second of my grand adventures took me to a place where the waters of the Atlantic kiss the east coast. A tourist trap it may be deemed, but as a young child exploring life, this place was paradise. Located on a long strip of land just off Maryland's eastern edge, was the vacation hub known as Ocean City. A sprawling beach metropolis with a boardwalk that stretched for miles that draws crowds summer after summer. 

My parents rented a beach house that had direct access to the beach. In my eyes it was huge. The living room was bigger than ours as was the kitchen set-up just off of it. It had a large deck that you could hang out on and stare at the dunes while listening to the sound of the crashing waves. It also had direct access to the beach so if we wanted, we could roll out of bed, throw on some swim trunks, and be by the water in mere minutes. But the best part in my eyes was cable television. A treasure trove of cartoons I couldn't watch back home were at my finger tips. But I wasn't on my first real vacation to watch cartoons. I had an ocean city to explore.

Mornings were for sleeping in and eating a decent breakfast, followed not long after by lunch. But once the sun was at it's peak, we had on our swim trunks and eagerly ran down the sand trails to the massive beach before us. The crashing waves had me in awe and I had no fear of them, unlike a certain raft ride at Hershey Park. I happily played along the edge, running to where the water retreated and then as soon as the next wave came barreling down, I fled back towards drier sand. I spent hours doing this, but once or twice, the waves bested me. I remember pausing during a run thinking I had time to examine the pebbles and shells before me. I underestimated my timing and saw a large wave barring down on me. I turned to run, but slipped and felt the force of all that water tackling my miniscule frame. As quickly as it came, the wave fled back to the ocean. I was a bit disoriented, but I finally knew what salt water tasted like.

I took a break from the ocean and joined my brother and sister in building sand castles. We had colorful, hard plastic, buckets and shovels specifically made for building sand castles. My mom showed us that we needed to make sure the sand was so our structure wouldn't crumble as we built it. Once we had what appeared to be a castle, we dug a moat around it and put some water inside to make it look realistic. My hope was that they would last while we were there, but I learned about this thing called "high tide" and how it is the ultimate castle crusher.

As the evening rolled in, there was still a lot to discover. We made our way to the seemingly infinite boardwalk. Crowds of people were there, exploring the shops, buying souvenirs, or just grabbing a bite to eat. We ourselves had to take care of our energy depleted beings so we stopped inside a small burger and shake shack. I remember the burger tasting really good and was impressed by the size of the steak fries. After our bellies were satisfied, we continued our boardwalk journey. Along the way we passed incredibly constructed sand sculptures mainly portraying the artist's thought of what Christ looked like. I marveled at how someone could make something so cool and detailed out of simple beach sand.

Souvenirs were a must and Pogs were all the rage in the 90s. Someone got this brilliant idea to put art on the cardboard caps that came under the lid of a popular Hawaiian juice called POG and manufactured them as a game. They were mainly meant to collect, but if you wanted to play, you and your friend would make a stack out of all the Pogs you were willing to risk. Then each of you would take turns with a heavy metal or plastic disc (called a slammer) slamming it on the pile. Any Pogs that flipped over were yours for the taking. Once half than more than half the stack had been won, the game was over. Both players kept all the Pogs they flipped and were returned their original ones that did not. So when we walked into a souvenir shop, I just had to have an Ocean City blue metallic slammer. That slab of metal became one of my most treasured possessions throughout my childhood until it mysteriously disappeared years later. 

We continued on the boardwalk and my senses took over. The sea gulls squawked overhead looking for a likely victim to snatch food from. The lights and sounds from the shops and restaurants were well noted as they did their best to draw the vacationers in and separate them from the cash in their wallets. The scent of cotton candy, popcorn, burgers, fires, ice cream, and so many other delectable smells filled the evening air. I was so immersed in my surroundings that I did not realize we had made it to toy shop. My mom took a break on a nearby bench while my dad took us inside as we were supposed to get kites to fly for the weekend. For reasons beyond my current understanding, we did not end up getting them. Instead my Dad bought us each gumballs and whirly-gigs. A whirly-gig was a plastic rod connected to a large plastic circle. Attached to the plastic circle where multiple colored plastic propellers that spun as the rod was waved in the wind. We were elated and as we rejoined my mom, she asked where the kites were. My dad made a "shh" motion and mouthed something to her that I was not able to apprehend. I have my suspicions that either they were too pricey or they weren't kid appropriate. Either way I was content with whirly-gigs and gumballs. 

We made one more stop before heading back to our beach house. That stop was a brightly lit candy store. My dad purchased a large mixed bag of swedish fish candy. My mouth drooled at the colorful bag of gummy fish. But when weren't allowed to have any until we got back (probably to avoid sticky fingers). Upon arriving back at the beach house, Sarah, Tim, and I watched excitedly as Dad divided a handful out amongst us. I'm pretty sure this was the moment where my love for swedish fish was born.

The next day, before we set out, my parent's called me into their room and had something to give me. There on the bed, still in it's package, was a child's film camera. I went nuts. Now for those of you born after 2007, you may not be familiar with nor have ever seen a standard film camera. Basically you had to purchase a roll of film and insert it into the back of the camera. Then, once you closed the film door, you turned a knob to wind the film into place, usually determined by a clicking sound. At this point, you could not open that film door again until you had wound the film back into the film roll, otherwise the light that hit the film sheet would expose it and ruin it. In order to take a picture, you'd close one eye and use the other to look through the viewfinder. Whatever you saw through that finder was your best guess of what was going to appear on that picture. Once you saw what you wanted, you pushed the shutter button to take the picture. Then you'd have to wind the film knob until it clicked to go to a blank spot in the film. In order to get your pictures, once the film was used up, you'd have to wind it back into the roll. Then you'd take the roll to Walmart or a drug store. You'd fill out a special envelope, put the film roll inside, and drop it in a box/slot. Then you'd have to wait 3-7 days for an employee to develop the film. And this was the scary side of this technology was one, you didn't know for sure how the pictures were going to turn out and two, at least one stranger saw every photo you took. I always wondered how much fun the film developers had seen thousands of strangers photos from the best moments in life to the raunchy ones. Being a young child and not quite understanding the limitations of a film camera, I was so excited to be able to take pictures that I used up my entire roll of film trying to take pictures of kites flying over the dunes. Needless to say, when the pictures were developed, you could barely see the kites. So from that trip I was left with a bunch of pictures of timothy grass covering the dunes. Life lesson learned. 

Rain came down most of the day that day which ruined our beach plans. My parent's pivoted and took us to indoor mini-golf for the afternoon. We played at least two courses. Dad took Sarah and I the first round while my mom watched Tim. The only thing I remember from that course was that it was dinosaur themed and Sarah had a frightening moment. One of the holes required you to go through a semi-dark cave. Half-way through it was a crevice. As we were playing the hole, we had to pass by the crevice. We knew something was up, but Sarah was too little yo notice what was going on. When she got close, a large green mechanical dinosaur popped out of the crevice and made a roaring sound that scared her half to death. She ran back to my dad in a panic and refused to finish that hole.

The second course was an undersea course with large sea creatures everywhere and blue-colored greens. Mom was with Sarah and I this time while Dad watched Tim. The most memorable hole on this course was one with a life-sized mechanical diver. You had to hit the ball up a hill towards the diver into a large hole. Once you got the ball in the large hole, it funneled the ball into a pipe that lined up directly with the main hole. The catch was that the diver moved up and down to try to block your ball from the big hole. Four year old me had a moment I won't ever forget. I stared that dastardly diver down, aimed my shot, and when it felt right, let her rip. I watched intently as that tiny ball soared up the hill, barely clearing the diver's legs, swirl around in the big hole, and let out an ecstatic "whoop!" when the ball came through the pipe into the main hole for a hole-in-one. I was the best and you couldn't tell me otherwise. My mom was not so fortunate, however. Her first and possibly second shot ended up being blocked by the diver's antics much to her disdain and my amusement. 

We finished the round and headed back to find my dad and Tim. But what we found instead was my dad looking for Tim. My dad turned his head for a second and Tim disappeared. Before panic mode could kick in, he looked over towards the arcade games and saw movement behind one of them. He went to take a look and there was Tim, hanging out behind it. I'm going to preface future chapters by saying this would not be the last time Tim, and my other siblings for that matter, would pull scary disappearing acts.

My memory of this trip ends here. I feel like we were here longer than a weekend, but I cannot recall if that was the case. Thankfully this would not be my only visit here as we would return in the summer of 1996. And this concludes my two epic summer adventures of 1995.

The Story of My Life: Chocolatey Goodness in the Summer

The summer of 1995 took me on two grand adventures so memorable that my four-year old brain was able to retain memories from them. But before I tell you tales of the first, I have to plant some imagery in your mind. Imagine you're in an American grocery store. You've managed to find all your needed groceries and are now waiting in the long and seemingly never ending checkout line. You're tired and maybe a bit hungry too. As you near the counter, there before you are chocolate bars piled high and wide. Your mouth begins to water as you see that ever familiar name on the wrappers. Hershey. The options are plenty. Hershey's milk chocolate, Hershey's dark chocolate, Hershey's with Almonds, Hershey's Cookie's N Creme, Reese's peanut butter cups, KitKat bars, etc. The American marketing ploy has you hook, line, and sinker with placing it's chocolatey goodness right where you have to be knowing there's a good chance you add that extra item not included on your shopping list to your cart. But when it tastes that good, it's too hard to resist. You finally make it back to your car, load it up with your grocery haul, and plop yourself in the driver's seat. But before you start the engine, you retrieve that delectable chocolate bar and take a soothing bite. Delicious.

If you've never had a Hershey's candy bar, I hope that intro gave you an idea of what they're like. And living in the USA, Hershey's and chocolate are synonymous with each other. But the reason it's incredibly special to me is there is a city in Pennsylvania called Hershey. It was only an hour from where I grew up and it was named after Milton Hershey, the inventor of the Hershey bar. The city of Hershey took things a step above their chocolate factory and built an amusement park there known as Hershey Park. I was going to experience it for the first time in the summer of 1995.

With Becca and Zeke in town for the summer, Al & Sue thought it would be fun to take the grandkids and their friends to the Sweetest Place on Earth. Ten of us, Becca, Zeke, Chalene, Cam, Joe, myself, Al, Sue, and Tom & Sandy (Chalene & Cam's parents) were bound for Hershey. The car ride was a little over an hour, which can be an eternity for a four year-old, but once the towering silhouettes of the roller coasters and giant swing rides came into view, my dopamine levels spiked and the lingering boredom of the trip vanished.

Upon arrival, we didn't enter through the main gates right away. Hershey Park had a side attraction known as Chocolate World. For a small entry fee you sat in an open train car as it took you through the process of how Hershey's chocolate was made. As you sat in this train car, you passed by large video screens displaying the chocolate making process with a narrator voice explaining it. At one point, the train cars pulled you through an oven-like structure that was a little warm inside to make you feel like you were the chocolate getting baked. At the end of the tour there were smiling staff handing out a free normal sized chocolate bar to everyone. I saw normal because years later it was more cost-effective to hand out the tiny fun-size bars instead. Before I continue, I must share with you actual evidence of what I just described.

            Photo courtesy of Chalene

This is what the chocolate world experience looked like in 1995. From left to right in the front: Chalene, Joe, Cam, Me, Zeke, and Becca. Back: Al, Sue, Tom, and Sandy. This photo disappeared from my life a long time ago, but resurfaced in 2016 on a memorable night that I'll be sure to include in when we get to that point.

Entering the main gate of Hershey Park in the eyes of a child is like entering a dream. I was greeted by and dancing Hershey bar and high fived a large smiling Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. Happy music filled the air, old fashioned candy store houses lined the entrance, and giant scales with candy bars as height requirements for rides beckoned you to step on them.

My senses were on overload. The excitement kept building. The rides and all their mechanical clatter were calling out to me. Being a group of little kids, you could probably guess that we were not headed to the roller coasters. The first thing I remember riding was the carousel. It was big, flashy, and played cool theme park music, just like the movies. Once mounted on my trusty steed, my imagination ran wild as I saw myself in a fierce race to overtake everyone in front of me. I was just about to win when the ride came to a halt. I wanted another run, but there were more rides to try out so off we went.

The rest of that morning was spent crashing bumper cars, spinning around on crowns and saucers, and moving invisible dirt on tiny bulldozers. We took a break for lunch and then it was off to the water rides. Here's the thing. If any part of a ride seemed scary to me, I refused to do it. Most of the rides I could see the whole thing from start to finish. But there were some exceptions. One of them being Canyon River Rapids. From the spectator's view, it was an 8 person raft that ran through a fast moving river. Yet you could only see part of the river and all you could see was the calmer parts. It didn't look so bad and since I wasn't riding alone, I agreed to go. Both myself and the ride operator made sure I was buckled in tight. Then the raft was released and off we went. Nothing scary appeared in the first minute or two and it was actually fun going through the rapids...that is until we rounded a devious bend and my face dropped in sheer terror. Giant walls of water roared over rock faces, crashing into the rapids with a violent force. If there was ever a time in my young life that I was going to wet my pants unintentionally, this was it. With no way to stop the raft and no way to escape, I gripped the center wheel tight and braced for impact. WHOOSH! My section of the raft turned right into the first waterfall and soaked me to the core. My brain was in panic mode and I began bawling as waterfall after waterfall clobbered our helpless raft. All the adults and some of the older kids seemed to be enjoying themselves, but not I. As we neared the end of the onslaught, Sue tried to comfort me telling me that Joe was having fun. I stopped crying and saw that he had his head aimed directly down and in between his outstretched arms. I tried that trick through the rest of the ride and once we made it out alive, the initial fear I had began to evaporate.

The rest of the afternoon was going pretty well as no more scary water rides came into play. After taking a short break on a bench, the group decided to go on one more water ride before dinner. I wasn't so sure about this one as I couldn't see the full ride. But Sue convinced me it was just a simple boat ride. Her, Al, Joe, and I all got into a boat. Sue playfully splashed the water with her hand as the boat went through what appeared to be a relaxing water course. Then it made a sharp turn. Suddenly, we weren't very low to the ground anymore. I had been tricked. This boat ride was anything but simple. A behemoth of a drop stared me down knowing that in a matter of seconds, we'd be going straight over it. The boat took a dive and I clutched to the sides for dear life. My teeth were clenched so hard I couldn't scream. The rush of the wind on my face kept me from blinking. Before I could even process what happened, it was over. For those few seconds, I was terrified, but it was over so fast that the fear couldn't overtake me and my mind said "that wasn't so bad." To this day however, I'm still salty I was conned into a "simple boat ride".

Dinner was next on the agenda and we got burgers and fries. Becca and Zeke wanted to get those massive souvenir drinking containers with a long straw. They had all the candy mascots plastering the outside of the giant mug. I was in awe of those things. The adults made sure before we left that we all took a bathroom break. Once re-grouped we were making our way towards the next ride when Becca started freaking out. Apparently she left her souvenir cup on the table and not with an adult. The cleaning people turned over tables fast so they scooped it up in their cleaning efforts. Becca was so distraught that Al decided to get her another one but she'd have to carry it the rest of the day except when on rides.

One of my favorite rides as a kid was the Wild West train that looped around the Wild West zone. We hopped on it as an easy after dinner ride. The train took you through all these cool areas with mechanical cowboys and indians greeting you along the way. At one point, it took you on an elevated track that went through trees. In the distance, there were fake above ground graves that had fake skeletons coming out of them. I thought these were cool. Another of my favorite rides was the old fashioned cars. They were secured on a track that the riders had no control over, but as a kid, I couldn't tell that and thought I was actually driving a car.

As the sun was setting, we decided to head back to the water rides and ride the "simple boat ride" again. Even though I had been on it once, once was enough for me and I sat with Al and watched as everyone else had a blast going down a few more times. 

The magical day would not have been complete if we didn't stop by the arcade and game stands near then entrance. If you've never been to an amusement park and never seen this section, when the sun goes down, it's the place to be. Flashing, colorful lights, zany sounds, vendors calling you forward to try to win some incredible prizes, people walking with large stuffed animals, so on and so forth. We all wandered into a large arcade. Each of us was given a few tokens to play a couple games. I recall the crimson red numbers on the skee-ball machine. They displayed a high score challenging you to beat it. I knew I stood no chance, but that didn't matter. I had a blast rolling those little balls up that ramp and into the white cups. With each game played, the machine released tickets depending on how well you did. Those tickets could then be exchanged for prizes. I think I earned enough to get some candy, but I remember Cam ended up getting a small stuffed clown. The only reason I believe this memory is burned into my brain is because on the tram ride back to our cars, he played with it the whole way back and made it do some pretty goofy stuff.

The very last thing I recall is being half awake and half asleep as Al carried me up those concrete steps of my new house and transferred me into my parents arms. Today, I realize what an effort it can be to bring a four year-old to an amusement park, let alone six in total. But ultimately I'm glad they did because going to my first amusement park with my best friends is a memory I'll cherish for my entire life. I did mention at the beginning that this was one of two big adventures I went on in the summer of 1995. In the next chapter, I'll take you on a journey to the ocean by a city. Ocean City.