Isobel: "Daddy, I just saw a fox!"
Daddy: "A fox?"
Isobel: "I think it was a fox. If a fox came near me I would bite its arm off."
Daddy: "Oh, and what if this fox bit you?"
Isobel: "He better dang not. I would bite that fox until he came right out of his skin and ran home to his Momma."
Daddy: "And then make a hat out of him?"
Isobel: "What?"
Daddy: "You know, wear the fox hat?"
Isobel: "Oh, (covers her mouth and snickers) Wait, wait. What did you just say?"
Yes true believers it is that time of year again. There is a chill in the air, the leaves are starting to drop from the trees and tents are going up in rural communities all around us. It is fall fair season. Izzy and I look forward to it all year long. They few parking lot carnivals we hit during the spring, pale in comparison to a real, dyed in the wool fall fair.
The whole atmosphere of them put Izzy and I into our element. Perhaps we were carnies in a former life but we do seem to feel at home among the mud and livestock stalls. It's almost like there is something in the air that calls to us...beckoning us from miles away. Stale french fry grease, likely but whatever it is around about this time every year our eyes begin to glaze over and remain so until at least one generous helping of candy floss and a spin or two on the tilt-a-whirl.
If you will recall from last year's post, Isobel and I and the Loud Twins went to the Paris fair and spent an undue amount of money. I think Mrs. Narrator finally stopped yelling at me for that one two or three weeks ago. We couldn't make Paris this year, for one reason or another. New Hamburg would have to do for us. After all, New Hamburg is where I grew up. It's my home fair. This time it was Izzy's turn to bring a friend and so we set off, two giggling little girls and me.
I remember the fair in New Hamburg being an endless source of wonder and fascination for me and all my friends when we were young. Livestock, carnies, hucksters, shysters, rigged games and tattoo booths. There were shows for the grown up folks that we kids were not allowed into. (Incidentally it was Stompin' Tom what the hell was so bad about his show that we couldn't get into it?) Luckily the walls of the arena back then had gaping holes in them and we could see that we weren't missing much anyway.
But the girls wanted no shows (except the livestock) and no food. They wanted rides and carnival games and they wanted them quickly. Dad, on the other hand, had not eaten lunch and so a hot dog and a can of coke were quickly fired down my face to prevent blood from crashing and temper from flaring. Let the games begin.
First up was a game that I have yet to ever accomplish. The bowling ball roll. The object being to roll the ball just hard enough to get over the hill but not so hard that it hits the other end and rolls back. Isobel's friend rocked it on her second try and got a bright red bear for her troubles. Isobel on the other hand, is my daughter and walked away empty handed. I thought it might bring tears but she ended up being more excited for her friend winning than her friend was. Next it was the fish hook til you win game. A safe and tear free bet all around. Two plush magnet filled 'I Love You' hearts and we were back pounding the earth and moving onward, ever onward.
It was time for rides...If I can impart one piece of advice. If you are going to take your kids to a fair, go on The last day. The carnies who run the rides are generally quite hung over and the concept of tickets for rides seems to elude them altogether. The girls rode all they wanted for at least an hour and I don't recall giving any tickets until near the end of our stay.
First was the fun house which was fun right up until Izzy fell on her butt in the spinner on the way out. She soldiered on and raced to the slide...the big slide. You know the kind I mean. No I don't. Yes you do. You know the kind of slide that is like six hundred feet tall and you walk up six hundred steps to get to the top of the slide. Once your up there you sit on top of a burlap potato sack and then rocket earthward, grabbing handfuls of fresh air as you go. Know what kind of slide I mean now?
Isobel's BFF had clearly been on one of these slides before. She raced to the top, flopped herself onto the potato sack and was heading to the bottom before Izzy had even caught her breath from ascending the mammoth stair case. My child has never, to my immediate knowledge, ever been on one of these monstrous declines before and the look of terror on her face as the ground started to rise up to her showed me that she may never go on one again. She let out a scream that was not having fun, not happy to be sliding at the fall fair on a Sunday. It was more a look of full on panic tipped with a little hatred for the friend that ever suggested they go on this rotten contraption in the first place. Luckily that fear lasted until just before the bottom of the slide and the screams turned to howling laughter. I have scarred her enough with frogs and bugs, Mrs. Narrator can ruin carnival rides for her.
We had seen just about all we had come to see and we were heading toward the exit when she heard it. A sound so loud and violent that she immediately clapped her hands over her ears to shelter herself from the sonic onslaught.
"What the hell is that sound?" she asked her friend who couldn't hear what Isobel was shouting as her own hands were also covering her ears.
"It's the demolition derby." I said.
"The what?" she asked. "Holy crap! Daddy, that car just smashed up that other car."
"The other name for a demolition derby," I began. "Is a smash-up derby. The cars smash into each other until they don't work anymore. The last car that is still running wins."
The look that came over her face can only be described as Hillbillificent. It was a look that could only say 'This smash up car concept is quite foreign to me but it's 'bout the coolest fuckin' thing I ever seen y'all!'
If I would have had a beer on the go, I don't doubt that she would have taken a long pull off of it. We stood and watched for a long time. Through the cars, all three heats and into the pick-up trucks.
"Daddy!" she screamed. "The pick-em-up trucks are smashing into each other now! Seriously Daddy, look!" And indeed they were. I had a quick look around to be sure there weren't any school buses in the derby for fear that she might want to get a back tattoo and start smoking before we got home.
One thing I noticed was that she became increasingly nervous about the fate of the drivers in the cars. Understandably so, we are told all of our lives to buckle up and drive safely because people get seriously hurt in accidents and here are people getting into accidents on purpose. I explained to her as best I could that they take out all of the things in the car that could come loose and hurt someone and that the drivers are strapped in and well padded and wear helmets. Nobody gets hurt very often and when they do, it isn't very serious.
She seemed better about that and we were finally ready to go home. As we were walking toward the gate, we came across a man sitting on the hood of his wrecked car. Obviously not the winner of the derby and a surly looking cat to boot. But my kid wanted to see the inside of this twisted piece of steel so surly or not, we were having a look. All the seats were gone but the driver's, the windows and mirrors and anything else that could come loose were also all gone. It wasn't until she saw the massive harness on the driver's seat and the fire extinguisher that Izzy was confident it was OK and that the driver 'probably wasn't going to get hurt and dead after all.'
As we turned to leave, the surly driver started heading our way. I'm not sure what I figured would happen next. Maybe years of associating with many of the people I have has left me paranoid and suspicious of people who walk toward me quietly and with determination. But I didn't see this coming.
He reached to the trunk and pulled out a mangled, broken and bent set of keys. He gave Isobel the keys and smiled at her as she beamed back at him.
"Have a nice day." he said to me as we walked away.
No comments:
Post a Comment