For a long ten or so years, I went without one of the most popular, commonplace staples found in the US of A. A food that is one of the key characteristics of being an American. Other than Big Macs, hot dogs, and Coca Cola, I suppose pizza is considered an American pastime.

When I was about six years old, I remember my parents taking me to a Chicago style pizzeria in Maryland. I understood I had enjoyed eating pizza up to that point. For whatever reason, after eating pizza that night, I went home & Blew Chunks all night long. And my impressionable, young mind somehow made the correlation (albeit wrong) that pizza = Blowing Chunks. It didn't matter what pizza we got from that point on. It didn't matter where we got it from. From that day forward, there was no getting me to eat a nibble of pizza.

This went on for the next ten years or so of my life. If people went out and ate pizza, I ate something else. If we ordered pizza, I ate something else. My parents did try to convince me that nothing was going to happen. But just thinking about pizza made me feel queasy. I was determined and nothing could change my mind.

Then sometime during my teenage years, I finally gave in and took a bite of pizza. In fact, I did more than take a bite. I probably ate four or five slices. And from that point on, look out - I was forever known as having a "hollow leg."

Of course having gone without pizza for ten years, I had to make up for all that "lost time" while I was in college.

Isn't it funny how one small bad experience could make us do *anything* to avoid that unpleasantness ever again? And then once we finally get our courage up to try again, we wonder what the big deal was?

The same thing went for roller coasters. However, in that case, it wasn't the fact that I Blew Chunks after riding it once that kept me away. No, I didn't even get *that* far. In this case it was a case of plain and simple Dreaded Fear (TM) that kept me from getting on one of those Death on Wheels rides.

Again, I went for most of my pre-adolescence and teenage years refusing to ride any sort of rollercoaster. My sister and dad loved them. They rode everything at Kings Dominion and Busch Gardens Williamsburg. But no matter how much coaxing and teasing and threats they delivered, I stood firm and spectated from the sidelines. I even remember breaking down into tears a few times I was so upset. Yeah, it's never pretty watching a grown boy cry.

Then at some point, I started riding the smaller coasters and then I was unstoppable. Nothing phased me. I became a rollercoaster junkie. I wanted faster and faster rides. I wanted rides with more and more loops. I rode in the front, I rode in the back. I was insatiable. I still remember the day my friends and I rode the Rebel Yell at Kings Dominion twelve times in a row. The Rebel Yell isn't a particularly "scary" coaster consisting only of big hills, but it sure was a fun one. On that summer day, it started drizzling which sent most people indoors. However, seeing as how the rides were still running, my friends & I took advantage of the fact that there weren't any lines. We'd ride the Rebel Yell, get off the ride, run all the way around to the entrance and get ride back on board. Coasters sure are fun, but especially so when you don't have to wait in line to ride them.

As an adult, I think I'm a lot more open minded than I was as a child. I'm more willing to take chances. I think I try not to let unpleasant previous experiences deter me from trying things out again. But every once in a while, as I'm holding a piece of delicious, greasy pizza in my hands, I still get a sudden burst of queasiness before I take that very first bite.

But it's probably just pre-indigestion.