I didn’t used to be afraid of heights.
Years ago, when my ex-husband and I were dating (and even boyfriends before him) and we visited amusement parks, I always went on the roller coasters.
As a good girlfriend would.
And then one day, I stopped.
I can tell you exactly when the fear of heights set in. We were on a ferris wheel and got stuck on the top.
Mechanical difficulties.
Twenty minutes.
And I said never again.
Nick, on the other hand, has exactly zero fear of heights.
Higher.
Faster.
Better.
And unfortunately for me, his sister is following fast in his footsteps.
So it sometimes means that I need to suck it up in the interest of not standing in the way of my kids having fun.
Which is exactly how I found myself some 200 feet in the air (roughly twenty stories high) during our recent Spring Break vacation.
Because every day that we stayed in Sevierville, we passed by The Great Smoky Mountain Wheel.
Multiple times daily.
And it was huge. And it looked like great fun.
Except for the, you know, fear of heights thing.
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