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Nonfiction Memoir
I remember a time when my family and I went to Schlitterbahn water park. It was a pretty normal summer; my mom complaining about traveling, my dad dragging her along, and me giddily sitting in the passenger seat, just waiting to get on the ride that my dad had told us about. As usual, the San Antonio weather was hot and the lines at the water park were long. I should know; my grandparents, aunt, and cousin live there and I visit them about once a year. Anyways, after we waited an entire hour in line, the staff filtered the long line into the park. The sight past the gates was amazing. Multicolored waterslides sprouted from the main tower. Vendors dotted the park, selling Dippin' Dots ice cream. I couldn't wait. Apparently, it turned out that I had to wait. In line. For another hour. It doesn't get any better than that. As we waited in line, my dad gave up trying to persuade my mom to get on the 'violent water ride' as she put it. When we were forced to ride separately, I didn't care. What I did care about was when my dad made me ride the water coater first. At least he made me ride it feet first, and not head first. When my turn came, I didn't realize that I had just zipped into the labyrinth. It was a wild, fast-paced ride. I was nearly tossed out of my inner tube at the bottom of the slide. I give that ride a perfect, thrilling '10'. The rest of the trip was a blur. The highlight of my evening that day was a turkey leg for dinner, closely followed by two cups of cookies n' cream Dippin' Dots. Overall, the trip was fun, the rides were memorable, and the water was cold.
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