The Giant Dipper
By Julie Marie Wade
November 10, 2014
When I ask her “What was the greatest adventure of your life?”, my grandmother grows quiet. Like all questions I have ever asked, she takes this one seriously. I watch her lips part along their narrow seam, the glint of gold visible between her two front teeth. “I was one of the first people to ever ride on the Giant Dipper,” she tells me proudly. “Santa Cruz, California, 1924. I was thirteen years old, traveling with my parents that summer. I’ve never been a daredevil,” she says, draining her cup. “You don’t live to be this old by sticking your neck out too often. But there I was in that wooden car, creaking up and up into the clouds, stretching over the boardwalk and above the sea. I’ll never forget it: The wind in my face as I tipped downward, the sea gulls swirling like confetti as we fell.”
Photo "Giant Dipper" provided by Jared Greeno, via Flickr creative commons license.
