I can count the times on one hand, maybe even leave out the thumb, the number of times my family went to an amusement park when I was a little girl. When we did, it was like rolling up all the fun of a week-long vacation into one day.
Of course, I always went to the County Fair in August, but I only looked at the rides. For one thing, I was busy with Lady Bird, in the 4-H show, making sure she kept her tail clean. Dad took to us kids to every single display of old-fashioned tractors, trucks and tools He said, “This is what we used when I was a little boy.” He had that happy grin on his face, like he was sharing something super-interesting, that no kid could live without. Why would I care about something that happened such a long, long time ago? Those tools were rickety and rusted looking, and some of the needed horses to work.
Mom told me when she and Dad were dating, he liked to take her to the Fair, too. Once a hawker was gathering people around to tell them about a treatment for hemorrhoids. He shouted out in that special carny voice that’s way louder that a normal voice and each syllable is pronounced distinctly, so you know exactly what he’s saying; that same kind of voice Mom used when she’s angry, and she wanted me to know she meant business, only a carnie left out the angry part.
“Many people are embarrassed to tell their doctor they have hemorrhoids,” the carnie shouted. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” Dad and Mom saw the crowd kind of shuffling around and looking down, like Continue reading