From The Vault: Pink Chucks and Hershey Park
My pink low-top Chucks were the coolest thing in the world, and I couldn’t wait to wear them everywhere. And one of the first times I wore them, I was going to Hershey Park for a field trip.
Spark M. Matsunaga Elementary School was known for a lot of things; it was a new school, it was originally built without a fifth grade, we had “portables,” which were just glorified trailers made to be classrooms outside of the actual building, it carried over a thousand students at any given time, and had a fourth grade field trip the Hershey Park. It was a rite of passage. For the first time ever, a field trip wasn’t going to be educational. It was what everyone looked forward to. My brother, who was a grade above me, told me all about it. You leave early in the morning, but then you get all day there, and come back after school is over (it’s a pretty big deal), and you spend the whole time with your friends.
“And make sure Dad’s your chaperone too,” he insisted. “That’s awesome.”
My dad promised he would be my chaperone the next year.
I told my friends all about what my brother said, and suddenly it was like the only reason we entered the fourth grade was to go to Hershey Park.
By the time the field trip rolled around, I was spending a lot of my time with my friend M. She was part of a trio—one of the most popular trios in the grade—with two other girls named A and K. I was an honorary fourth member of their group, but over time, had separated, bringing M along with me. I didn’t do it on purpose; all of them were very nice. It just happened. My other best friend’s name was L. We had an on-again, off-again friendship. At the time, we were in an “on-again” phase. But I was spending most of my time with M.
One day, the entire grade was brought into the auditorium to discuss the trip. There were large posters at the front of the group. It was time to choose partners and groups for the Hershey trip. Because my dad was chaperoning—always a man of his word—my name was already written up there. I just needed a partner.
It was a no-brainer. After waiting for what seemed like hours, M was called up, and added her name right under mine. It was set, and I couldn’t wait. Me, my dad, and M were going to have one of the greatest days ever.
A few days later, L walked up to me before class started. I was seated at my desk, searching through the awful mess inside, when she approached me, smiling.
“Guess what?” she asked.
“What?” I said, turning my attention from the paper wasteland over to her. She was holding her hands close to her stomach, as if concealing something, and she looked excited.
“So, my parents weren’t comfortable with who I was partnered with for Hershey Park, because her parents are deaf, and they’re worried about my safety,” she explained.
“Okay?” I asked. I wasn’t sure where it was going. I knew she was probably disappointed that we weren’t partners, but my young mind was not processing what was going on.
L opened her hands, and showed me a small slip of paper, on which was written, in my teacher’s familiar handwriting, your partner is now Laura Stall.
My initial reaction was confusion. What would happen to M? Why did they immediately choose me? But at the same time, I was pretty excited. L was a close friend, and Hershey Park would probably still be fun anyway.
And then, after days spent anxiously waiting, Science classes dedicated to learning about roller coasters, history classes where we learned about Milton Hershey, and free time spent talking about safety, it was time to go to Hershey Park. I spent the night at my dad’s house the night before—which was pretty rare for a weekday, as that wasn’t the custody agreement at the time—and early the next morning, I woke up, laced my pink Chucks up, and my dad and I drove to the elementary school. School hadn’t started yet, so the only people there were those of the fourth grade class. I met up with L, and we discussed our day. She had this cute little purse that held all her money, she wanted a corndog for lunch, and didn’t want to go on any upside-down rides. I was totally okay with that, because I was nine and very afraid of the concept of going upside down. I had my two best friends at my side—yes, my dad is absolutely one of my best friends—and we all piled onto the bus to head out.
Our first stop—I think it was a requirement—was the Chocolate Tour. Attendees climb into these little brown carts, and are brought through a tunnel that explains the history of Chocolate, and Hershey altogether. You start with the cocoa bean, and end in Hershey Park. It leaves out the part where slave labor was probably used somewhere to help harvest the cocoa beans, and definitely leaves out the factory labor that goes into it; but it’s got singing cows, so my fourth grade mind was satisfied and entertained.
When it was done, it was time to move on to the rides. I insisted we go on rides like The Scrambler and The Pirate—the Scrambler is just one of those ‘always fun’ rides that my family and I love, and the Pirate was a huge swinging boat, so naturally it was awesome—but besides that, we had no real plan. Our only roller coaster that day was Wild Mouse. It was by no means the only roller coaster without upside down loops, but it was the only one I felt safe on.
Now why, you may ask?
Well, there’s a roller coaster called the Comet that has been with the park basically since it’s opening. It’s one of the last coasters to be made of wood. I had no real issue with this, until I brought it up with L.
“Hey, you know, the Comet isn’t an upside down ride,” I mentioned as we passed it.
“Yeah,” L said contemplatively. “But it’s made of wood. I don’t really trust that, you know? I mean, it has to hold all that weight…I’m not sure if it’s safe.”
That was never even really a thought in my head, but suddenly the idea of a bunch of people getting onto this wooden coaster, the coaster creaking and making all sorts of unsafe noises, and collapsing flashed in my imagination and I immediately decided that we were not going to go on the Comet. Everything else was way too scary—the Storm Runner, which was a new ride that had just opened, kept getting stuck—so we stuck to the smaller rides. One ride in particular that I remember is the Twin Turnpike: Classic Cars ride. There are some classic cars on a little course, and the attendees get to navigate it through a little course. I hopped in the driver’s seat, L joined me in the passenger’s seat, and we horribly navigated ourselves through a very simple path. It was hilarious, and half the time L had to be the one to tell me when to turn and when not to, but it was pretty pathetic at the same time. That’s why they make people wait until they’re fifteen, I suppose.
Lunch was a filling meal of Chinese food for me and my dad, and L’s beloved corndog. We had to search a lot of food places to find one that served them. But she needed her damn corndog. So we got it.
When lunch was over, we went on Wild Mouse again, and I was starting to feel slightly more confident about the Comet. Sure, it was a wooden coaster, but they wouldn’t have had it up for so long if it didn’t work, right?
I casually mentioned this to L. “Maybe we should try the Comet? Everyone else is going on it.”
L looked at me. “My stomach is kind of hurting,” she stated immediately. “The corndog is making me kind of sick.”
My dad was also feeling a little sick—amusement park Chinese food really wasn’t a good idea—so he was definitely not feeling like a big roller coaster like that.
I believe my dad. I still don’t know if I believe L.
I was defeated, so I let L rule the rest of the trip. We all went on the Scrambler, hit a few other rides that I don’t really remember, and then hit the gift shop. I walked out with a plush Hershey’s Kiss, and L bought some lip gloss that tastes like the flavor it is. She ended up giving me the Bubble Yum one while we were on the bus waiting to leave. I can’t really remember why, but it was really nice of her.
While we were waiting to leave, I noticed that Maurita, the girl L originally ditched to be my partner, was sitting in front of us.
Now, I don’t want to brag, but in the fourth grade, I was pretty good at signing the alphabet. I learned it from my days being a Girl Scout, and now that I knew of someone who could do it as well, it was my time to shine.
I popped up from my seat and looked over the back of her’s. “Maurita?” I asked.
Maurita looked up at me. “Yeah?”
“Um, I know the sign language alphabet,” I smiled.
Maurita just stared at me.
“Look!” I started to sign the letters, but got caught on F. “Um…what’s F again?”
Maurita did not look impressed. Clearly, she thought I was lying. She brought the tips of her thumb and pointer together, with the other three fingers straight up in the F sign.
“Right!” I cheered. I continued to the end of the alphabet, and then waited for her approval.
“That’s cool,” she said.
I felt validated, so I fell back into my seat just as the teachers climbed onto the bus. When everyone was accounted for, we left.
It was on the ride home that I realized just how bad my feet were hurting. My pinky toes felt like they were being squished, my heels hurt, and the backs of my ankles were stinging. I tried to ignore the pain as much as I could, but when we finally arrived back at the school, I sat on the platform where the flagpole stood and pulled off one of my shoes.
Blisters. Big, round, pussy blisters.
“Oh, did you get blisters?” L asked.
“Yeah,” I grimaced.
“Oh, those are the worst,” L commented. “And they’ll just hurt for a while, and then become big craters when they pop.”
I had never really had experience with blisters, but L was not helping the situation.
“You shouldn’t have worn brand new shoes to walk around an amusement park all day,” my dad mentioned.
“I didn’t know!” I insisted.
I would go on to experience many blisters and much pain brought on by Converse tennis shoes. But I would never stop wearing them. Eventually, I popped the blisters, cleaned out the ‘craters’ as much as I could, and then wore the pink shoes the very next day. L and I talked about how much fun we had together, and I even told her that I was glad I went with her instead of M.
Eventually, L and I parted ways for good. M and I remained friendly, but not close. Funny enough, the only person from that experience that I do still talk to is Maurita. But she didn’t come till a while later.
