home | contact | about | faq | Queen B Designs4/26/13I Was Country When Country Wasn't CoolWhen I was about 12 or so years old, my entire family took atrip to Opryland. And when I say my entire family, I mean my mom, dad, sistersand hordes of aunts, uncles and cousins. There were about a thousand of usWilson kids parading through country music's beloved theme park.It was complete pandemonium.There were about 15 of us cousins – all between the ages of18-months and 16-years-old --- being herded through the streets of Opryland.Kids outnumbered parents 3-to-1. I have no idea why my folks even consideredpunishing themselves in this way. We were a rambunctious, unruly, sunburnedbunch of hillbilly children hopped up on cotton candy and thrill rides.We were in our Mecca.I can remember a 3-or-so-year-old child clinging to my mamalike a monkey hanging on a banana tree. I think it was my cousin Julia – who isnow a knockout blond and getting married next month. We were standing outside aride called the Wabash Cannonball, a wooden rollercoaster. Julia was just oldenough to articulate exactly how much she did not wish to participatein this ride and my mother was assuring her they could just watch.As Mama and Julia found a shady bench, the rest of us pressedthrough turnstiles and navigated the line. I can remember exactly how my mama lookedsitting there – tall and beautiful, gently swaying Julia in a calming rhythm. Whichwas exactly the opposite of what the Wabash Cannonball was doing to us. After arough, jerky 22-second ride that we’d waited half-an-hour for, the Wilson clanpiled off the ride cars and trudged down the exit ramp. The clinical term forwhat we’d just experienced was whiplash.And so went the rest of our day: Big kids held on to littlekids. Lots of: If you don’t stop hittingyour sister we will leave right now andDo you want a spanking at Opryland?! By the time late afternoon rolledaround our parents had pretty much given up on keeping us together. They’dpassed that point of caring for the safety of their offspring. They just wantedto go to the bathroom. Alone. For 30 seconds. Without a child clinging to theirneck.By 4 o’clock, us older kids had been given a directive: “Don’tlose you the little ones and meet us back here at 7 p.m. Here’s 20 bucks.”The one exception to the parents’ exhaustion was my father:It didn’t matter how tired he was, he wasn’t about to miss the rides. No, sir.And so Mama issued the extra warning: “Richard. Be. Back. Here. At. Seven. With.Your. Children.” Because basically he was just another big kid, not completelytrusted to not lose one of the little ones. She probably figured it was worththe gamble, though, for a few precious moments of peace so she could just focuson the one baby sleeping in her lap.So off we went.The first ride we hopped on was appropriately called Chaos.The best part of this dark rollercoaster was the cue