alayne white
5 min readJul 6, 2022

Back in the early nineties, when I was newly married, we went on a road trip with my in laws to Six Flags, a roller coaster park in New Jersey. Reflecting on this makes me chuckle because the thought of doing this these days is polar opposite, but in my late twenties, this sort of experience was part of, well, the late twenties I suppose.

The trip was really fun, from watching my mother in law go on a roller coaster, yelling and laughing so hard she almost peed her pants to riding endlessly on the old fashioned and the shiny brand new modernized roller coasters. What I remember most is screaming my brains out for three days non stop. It was exhilarating and a most surprising stress reliever.

Screaming for the thrill of the ride, hands up in the air shrieking at the top of my lungs was a heart, mind and spirit opening that I have found hard to replicate.

These days I find myself past the point of going on roller coasters or any amusement park ride; I think I would vomit considering the fact that just bending over to tie my shoes causes a head spin.

I wouldn’t want to risk it.

The glory about yelling at the top of your lungs as a grown up is that you don’t realize how much you miss it or need it until an opportunity presents itself.

And then….shrieking, screaming joy pours out, and you don’t know what it is you are screaming about until the next day after the dust settles and your feet are packed in ice up on pillows reflecting.

This is what happened to me on Friday, July 1st. No, it wasn’t the carnival on my town’s common that goes on for a few weeks leading up to July 4th, it was the head banging sounds of Back In The Day Band at Independence Park, a beautiful waterfront venue that hosts concert after concert to kick off our town’s July 4th extravaganza.

From the first sight of the band throwing their thinning, yet plentiful, long hair around, slightly greying goatees, bodies adorned with tattoos, and leather vests, I was transported to 1979–1983, my high school years. Journey’s, Don’t Stop Believin’ came on loud and my girlfriends and I speedily made our way to the front of the stage along with all of the other grownups who lived though the music of the eighties.

alayne white

Author, Typewriter Collector, Life Enthusiast, Beauty Realist, Daily Writer, and mostly a happy aging chick.