Nestled in the foothills of Provo, beneath the gleaming white Y that's painted on the face of the mountain, a water park gurgles thirstily to itself. This is Seven Peaks Water Park, a place that I have been going to, almost every summer, since I was I don't know how old (the old park, Raging Waters, falling out of favor). Now that I have children of my own, a modest budget, and ample summer time, we decided to visit Seven Peaks and swim around for a few hours this morning. As we pulled in, my boys--who were rather excited about the day's activity--wondered aloud about the parking situation. "Pay When You Leave?" asked my seven year old, reading the sign in the parking lot. "What does that mean?" "Instead of paying right now, we'll pay on our way out," I said. "How much does it cost?" he said (I imagine; this is partially paraphrased). "Seven dollars." "Wow! That's a lot!" "Yup." I gu...
Personal musings of Steven Dowdle