Starting
Point A
loving arm around me
By JAMES STEPHEN
BEHRENS
The first roller coaster I saw was
the Cyclone at Coney Island, N.Y. I was in kindergarten and my mom and dad took
my sisters and brothers and me to the amusement park. The roller coaster was
enormous. I watched the cars ascend that first long track and stared in awe as
it slowed at the very top and then plunged downward and roared and rolled its
way through the rest of the ride. The people in the car screamed at that first
descent. Some raised their arms above their heads as the car sped down. I was
too young and scared to ride it. But I envied those who did.
Some years later I took my first ride on the Zephyr roller coaster
in New Orleans. I was older and held on tight to the safety bar as the car
began its ascent. It paused just for a moment at the top of the first hill and
then headed down. It was fast, furious, and cheap enough that I rode a few more
times. I felt like a veteran, but never did let go of the bar.
After I was ordained a priest I used to take kids to Seaside
Heights at the New Jersey Shore and there was a ride called the Mouse. It was
not as big as the Cyclone or Zephyr but it was a fast and hair-raising ride.
There was a long ascent and then all the thrills as the small car careened its
way through the rest of the ride. I rode it a lot with the kids, and even
though I was more seasoned and relaxed in the experience of terror, I never let
go of the bar.
Not long before I moved away from New Jersey, I walked the
boardwalk at Seaside Heights. I was alone that day. It was late spring and a
gray day, the kind of day when thoughts tend to gather, as clouds do. I was
about to move to Georgia and a new life and a lot was going through my mind and
heart. I felt in between places in my life, not unlike that spot at the top of
the roller coaster where there is no other option but to hold on tight and head
down.
The rides were being readied by their owners for the soon to be
arriving summer crowds. I walked onto the pier and headed toward the Mouse and
watched as the operator, a young guy, tested the ride. His young son was with
him. They rode it several times. The father had become so used to the ride and
so secure with all its turns that it was old hat to him. But it was obviously
new to the little boy. As the car ascended, the boy attempted to raise his arms
but his dad gently put them back on the bar. The car reached the top, the
father put one arm around his son, and off they went. It was a pleasure to
watch.
Life is a ride. In many ways I still hold fast to the bar. But in
my better moments I know that there is a loving arm around me, too, for the
whole ride.
Trappist Fr. James Stephen Behrens lives at Holy Spirit
Monastery in Conyers, Ga.
National Catholic Reporter, June 15,
2001
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