On our recent trip to Disney, I spent a good deal of time manipulating and coercing my youngest daughter into riding a roller coaster. You see, up until this summer, she was terrified of them.  

I started by telling her stories of her brothers and sister and how they eventually overcame their fears.  I told them of her friends who had been riding roller coasters for many years already. I did a little bribing.  I offered perks.

It worked. Her last words before I snatched her hand and made a beeline for the fast pass lane was “OK, I guess I’ll give it a shot.”

I began thinking about my other kids and how I forced them to have fun.  There were just things I knew they’d like if they’d give it a try. For some things, I just knew it was OK to strong-arm them into taking a chance.

Our oldest son was our guinea pig. Michelle and I still remember when he was around 3. We put him on a small roller coaster at Six Flags. It was in the kiddie section, so we thought it was OK. The roller coaster was a little more thrilling than the rides he was used to, and this was the first ride he went on alone. I still remember his curly red hair and little pale face as he went down that first hill, only to see he’d have to do it another time, too.

When he got off the ride, I scooped him up in my arms and said “Did you love it?” His reaction was a stunned and faint “Yeah.”

Perhaps it was that first memory of a scary ride that caused him to avoid roller coasters until about his youngest sister’s age. We were at another amusement park that had a lot of rustic rides. The roller coasters at this park were wooden and jerky, but I was certain he would love it.

So once again, I manipulated and coerced him.  When we sat in the car of the coaster, he had second thoughts and like a good dad, I reassured him by saying “It’s too late now.  Hang on.”

In the few moments after we disembarked, I think my son was disoriented and upset. So much so, he forgot who I was and punched me in the arm.

“How could you make me ride that?  That was an awful ride!”

I felt bad. I was sure he was scarred for life. Normally, I would have reprimanded him for that burst of violence, but I let it slide.

My younger son was the most stubborn about things, and had to be talked into things by his friends. Even then, it didn’t always work.  He would stand firm on his decisions.

When the boys were little, we bought a small above ground pool. It was beautiful. I loved having it in our backyard, and so did they.

Eventually.

Riley, our oldest, took to water immediately. But Tanner, the stubborn one, was scared of the unknown and didn’t like water deeper than a bathtub.  

But again, I just knew he’d like water if he gave it a shot. I knew I could get him on some type of floating apparatus, or get those darned arm floaty things on him, and he’d realize how fun water was.

So, the manipulation began. I got the arm floaties on him, simply because they had the Incredible Hulk on them and made him feel like he had large biceps. I let him play around in the yard for a while, and then went in for the kill. Riley and I got in the pool and began to play around a little.  Tanner stood far away, but inched closer. He had a scowl on his face. I asked him to come in a few times, but he wasn’t having it.

He got a little too close to the pool. I leaned out, snatched him up and put up with his screaming and hollering for about five minutes.

Then suddenly, as if his senses had kicked in, he realized he could float and not drown. At least my manipulation worked that time.

Our older daughter Corinne had a similar situation, caused by her having brain cancer as an infant.  Due to her health needs, she had plastic tubes coming out of her chest in which medications could be administered. Therefore, she had never taken a bath in which she was immersed in water. She was the queen of spit baths and small tubs of water in the sink.

When she was around 1, she grabbed hold of her “lines” and pulled them out of her chest. Like all red-blooded men, I began screaming, expecting blood and guts.

My daughter just smiled at me. In the days that followed, it was determined she was old enough to have a port installed; a device placed under the skin that could be numbed and used to give shots, administer meds, etc.  

But it also meant that, because it was under the skin, she could now take regular baths.

That first bath was much like the incident with her brother and the pool. It was foreign and scary. We didn’t feel like manipulating or coercing. We just had to ride out the storm.

I can proudly report that all of my children bathe regularly and seem to have no apprehension. They jump into pools and swim in the deep end. They like roller coasters.

Perhaps I can now manipulate and coerce them into becoming completely and financially independent.

That may be a stretch for the 11-year-old!