The Coney Island Cyclone is a rickety wooden rollercoaster that makes for a deeply upsetting experience if you’re prone to terror. I screamed the whole way through it on Easter Sunday, except when I put my head down and then banged my nose hard as we trundled over a dip. The Hasidic women on line looked worried about their wigs as I staggered off clutching my face and weeping.
Later we watched a huge Hasidic family watch a Puerto Rican family catch stingrays from the pier. Nine beautifully dressed children stared as the fisherman stood on a gasping stingray’s wing and sliced its spine with a penknife. The tail slowly stopped flailing. The Puerto Rican kids hopped around with excitement; the Hasidic kids were still as the fish.
‘Mommy, help me! My dinner is pointy!’ said my sister in a stingray voice.