Most parents stop thinking somewhere between the second loop of the line for the zipper and the cotton candy stand. It’s not offensive. It’s simply what happens to people at fairgrounds. In roughly four seconds, a child tugs at a sleeve, the music loops, the lights blur, and the decision to put the child on a ride is made. A look at the height stick. The operator nodded. The lap bar clicked. Completed.
However, there is one question that very few parents consider asking, and it has nothing to do with height. It’s this: Is my child tall enough for this ride, or is he truly prepared for it?
The difference seems insignificant. It isn’t. This has been noted for more than ten years by Kathryn Woodcock, who oversees the THRILL lab at Toronto Metropolitan University and has spent years researching how people interact with amusement rides. She clarifies that height requirements aren’t actually related to height. They serve as a stand-in. A rough filter for muscle strength, the maturity to remain motionless in the face of fear, and the body mass required to remain in a restraint intended for a typical passenger. A six-year-old who is tall is still a six-year-old. The lap bar is unaware of the distinction.
This can be observed at any point during the middle of the summer. A father lifts his daughter onto the platform of a spinning ride while perspiring through a polo shirt. Uncertain, she looks up at him. He gives her the comforting smile that parents give after making a commitment. She is measured by the operator using the stick. She clears it by about 0.5 inches. The journey begins. She’s crying halfway through. She’s in a panic by the end. Embarrassed, the father picks her up and murmurs that it wasn’t all that horrible.
It occurs all the time. More than anyone else, ride operators witness it. In an article by Patrick Klepek in the magazine Crossplay, an industry veteran observes how frequently parents attempt to coerce operators into breaking the rules for children who obviously shouldn’t be riding. The operators fold; they are frequently teenagers themselves. There are moments when nothing occurs. Occasionally, something does.
Most people are unaware of how complicated the regulatory environment is in this area. There is no federal regulation of amusement rides in the United States. There is some oversight in 44 states. Six don’t. Disney maintains complete self-policing. Depending on which parking lot you pulled into that morning, the height requirements for the exact same ride can change by two inches. For example, the manufacturer’s minimum for the Zipper is 48 inches, but individual operators can set it higher. The ceiling is open, but they hardly ever lower it. That should give you an idea of how much leeway there is in the system designed to protect your child.
This returns us to the original question. Asking a child if they are ready, rather than just allowed, compels them to look in a different way. Before you wait in line, you begin to watch the ride. The child who got off crying catches your attention. At the bottom of the drop, you can see how violently the cars jerk. According to Woodcock, seeing the journey through your child’s eyes is the most beneficial thing a parent can do.
Another version of the question is more subdued. Say so if the operator hesitates, if a lap bar doesn’t click perfectly, or if something just doesn’t feel right. Inform the guest relations department. Inform the regulator. The Bureau of Ride and Measurement Standards in the state of Pennsylvania employs people whose sole responsibility is to be concerned about this. There is a hotline in Ontario. The majority of parents never use them.
Next summer, the fair will still take place. The ride will continue to operate. Almost invariably, a child who isn’t prepared this year turns into one the following year. The simplest trade a parent will ever make is one missed ride for one safe child. All you have to do is ask the question first.
