ABSTRACT
We Robillards are a loud people. Though Ma wasn’t born a Robillard, she, too, was loud. Her sneezes could wake the dead, and her laugh, if you weren’t prepared for it, could scare the shit out of you. My dad had a wicked laugh, too, and his laugh served as the laugh track for the Fun House at Mountain Park in Holyoke, Massachusetts, a now-defunct amusement park we’d go to as kids. I never knew this tiny detail until I was an adult. I wish I had known it as a kid. My dad’s laugh defined the Fun House.
