A TRADITION LIVES

4-16-10

Jim Kevlin/The Freeman’s Journal

This year’s CCS Ruggles’ Prize finalists are, front row from left, Emily Brown, Autumn Arthurs, Emily Senif, Ann Cannon, Julia Levandowski, Molly Pearlman; second row, from left, Sean Sansevere, John Gilbert, David Bonderoff, Andrian Lynch, Chris Satriano, Natalie Grigoli and Christen Dutkowsky.


Routine Roller-Coaster Ride Anything But

Editor Note:  This essay, by CCS junior Natalie Grigoli, won the Ruggles’ Prize for 2009-10.  She and other finalists were honored at an assembly Thursday, April 8.  Named in honor of William Ruggles, Cooperstown’s first school superintendent, it has been presented annually for 113 years.

The most common cause of concussions are sporting accidents; a foot to the head, a shove from an opposing hockey player, and so on.  But I stand before you today to explain how this common concept does not apply to me.
No, I am here to tell you how nine years ago I received a concussion on my first rollercoaster ride.
Now let’s take a step back, to the Natalie Grigoli of third grade. Not many of you remember her, or at least I hope you don’t.  But I’ll give you a tiny reminder.
Awkwardly tall for a 7-year-old, still clinging to baby fat, and yes, in the middle of her Afro phase. Much like now, the tiniest things excited me. You can only imagine my pleasure when my parents decided to take our family to Great Escape in Lake George.
Of course, when we got there we rode all the baby rides first; my parents didn’t think my sisters and I could handle anything else.
But while we were sitting down for lunch looking at the park map, I saw the greatest two dimensional contraption shining out at me like a beacon.
It went by the name of The Comet, and I knew that before that day was over I would ride that ride. 
It took some serious quarreling and peer pressure but I finally got my older sister, Roseanne, to agree to ride with me.
Christina was still a youngling, and my mom wouldn’t even ride a chairlift, let alone a rollercoaster, so my father took jubilant me and hesitant Roseanne to the ride.
I’ll never forget the feeling of joy, ecstasy, and awe as we neared the ride, its bright metallic colors flashing in the sunlight, bedazzling and vivid as it blinded my young eyes.
As we settled ourselves into the rickety carts and pressed the bar down over our laps, my whole life was suddenly complete.
Roseanne was gingerly trying to press the bar down tighter. “I don’t think it’s secure enough,” she kept saying.  But I wasn’t paying her any attention, for I was about to become the world’s most daring 7-year-old.
Slowly the ride started, my heart leapt, and I squirmed with intense anticipation.
When we finally reached the top, I saw that everyone around me had their hands straight up in the air.
Roseanne was gripping the restraint bar, and I remember thinking, “Hey, she might not, but I’m going to have the ultimate rollercoaster experience!”
Throwing my hands up, I ironically ruined my chances of having any experience whatsoever. All in the blink of an eye my cart unexpectedly jerked, thrusting my whole body sideways, causing my head (Afro and all) to make complete contact with the side of my cart.
The rest of the rollercoaster ride must be told in Roseanne’s perspective, seeing as how she was the only conscious person in the cart.
Based on her description, once my face made contact, my nose erupted like Mount  Vesuvius.  Only, instead of covering Pompeii, I managed to bleed all over the entire railway. This was made possible by my flailing body; I might as well have been a Raggedy-Anne doll the way I was moving.
Roseanne was so nervous it took my whole body slamming into her side for her to notice my unconsciousness. Unfortunately for Roseanne, she was wearing her new white blouse; after the ride, Roseanne was wearing her new red blouse. I was spurting precious fluids everywhere, and this made enough of a commotion to get my Dad’s attention from the cart ahead of us.
What happened next is something that I will never forgive myself for missing. Apparently my father, realizing I was hurt turned himself around in his cart, stood up on the rollercoaster, hooked his legs onto the railing of his cart, and attempted to get into my cart. It has never ceased to amaze me that I missed my father performing gymnastic moves on a moving rollercoaster.
My first lucid thought and full moment of realization was about five seconds before the ride finished. Like a true adolescent, my first thought was, “Oh my God, I’m bleeding in public and people are going to look at me!” And, whoa, did people look!
As soon as everyone in line learned that I had shut the ride down for two hours, I was boo-ed, yelled at, and still stared at. To all the jerks who were mad at me, I went back and rode The Comet again a few years ago, and believe me you weren’t missing out; it wasn’t even good!
Of course, getting off the ride was a little different from getting on. Before the ride I was delighted; afterwards I was horrified.  Before, my Mom was just freaking out about nothing; after, she had a legitimate reason to freak out.
Everyone wanted to know how this could’ve happened, and my Dad kept asking me, “Natalie, were you holding on?”
And like a good child I told my Dad the truth: “Of course I was holding on. I’m not an idiot!”