Meet Me at the Fair

When I was younger, my family had season passes to Astroworld. And every summer we would get our money's worth in roller coasters, funnel cakes and photo souvenirs. I have really nice memories of going really fast or really high and getting so filled with adrenaline that I almost puked. I absolutely loved the thrill of being on the verge of having too much of something - whether it be too much speed or too many turns or one too many loop-de-loops. I liked that feeling of being slightly out of control. Of course I grew up to be a control freak, but a control freak who still loves a thrill. And while I remember lots of things about Astroworld, I don't really remember going to a fair when I was younger. I have seen them in movies and I know it is supposed to be a dizzying array of sights, sounds and smells. And as I have driven past parking lot carnivals in my adulthood, part of me still yearns to pull over and spin till I am dizzy. For that reason, and many others, I was delighted to look over and see a carnival on our way to Georgetown last week. This was not a shabby, shady carnival either. It was big and organized and the lights were shining and it was practically begging me to enter into its clutches.

So... we loaded up with Grammy and we went to the fair. Luke was enthralled the moment it was in eyesight. He was almost over-stimulated by all that the carnival had to offer. Still, we managed to ride everything that he met the height requirement for, some things twice. And I enjoyed every minute of riding those kid rides with him because I saw in his face a feeling that I recognized. He was enjoying the thrill.

There was a moment, when we got on the roller coaster, that I felt I might be pushing my two year old too far. But the ride started, we went over some hills and took a few curves and then I heard the wonderful sweetness of his laughter. He was loving it and I was loving how brave and reckless he was.

When you grow up it seems that there is so much to fear. There are a million reasons not to do this thing or that and they all lead back to fear. Fear of failure, of rejection, of not measuring up or looking like an idiot. There are so many things we don't do because we are afraid. So it was nice to look at him enjoying the moment without thinking twice. I envied him that ability to let go and enjoy.

It was fun and mommy even threw a few darts at balloons to win my son a cheap prize. Because what is a fair experience, after all, if there are no prizes won. And I certainly was living vicariously through him as I tried to give him the best carnival experience. You only get your first experience once and I wanted to make it a good one.

However, despite my best efforts Luke's favorite thing wasn't the rides or the prize he won... it was the $2 box of popcorn that we bought. Not only did he eat most of the box by himself, he carried it around with him as we walked through the carnival as if it was his most prized possession. I believe there were also some requests to take the popcorn on the rides with us.

And when we could manage to pry the box from his pudgy hands, the first thing out of his mouth when the ride was over was, " I want my popcorn". And days later, as we relayed the experience to my mom and dad, Luke remembered three things about the carnival: the carousel, the dragon and the beloved popcorn. Which brings me to another point: at what moment do we stop being so completely satisfied by something as small as a box of popcorn?