Exhausted and nauseous, I wobble on weak ankles as D, C and I walk along the stables to D’s car. The paved surface below my feet is a refreshing change from that of the rest of the fairgrounds. The smoothness is, admittedly, a little disorienting; after being thrown and flipped for the better part of the day, I can’t help but anticipate some hazard looming on the horizon. So, I’m anxious. Each foot is placed with heightened uncertainty as I feel increasingly more sure that the ground will suddenly fall from beneath my feet. I’m scared because I don’t know what to expect next – I just can’t be positive – and even more frightening is the thought of slipping into the passenger seat of D’s blue sedan. He’s already a scary driver, so who knows how watching the figure-8 race will affect his tendencies?
If I even make it the parking lot, anyway.
Ah, the 4-H fair. What strange wonders it holds… Such a curiosity it is… Simple newspaper ads shout reminders and inspire promises as parents begrudgingly set dates on their calendars and pray that their children forget. But alas, mid-July, small rectangular signs are erected along road sides to announce the fair’s advancement.
There will be no forgetting now.
I remember those days well. Those days when I would reduce myself to tears just to try to make my parents give in to my desires. Surely just one more ride would be acceptable. Or perhaps one more game?
But now, as I stand in line for another ridiculous ride with a once-coveted wristband adorning my arm, I question and chide my childhood self. Why would one subject themselves to such pain for such a high price? After flipping and spinning on my so-called favorite rides for a just matter of minutes, I’m ready to be done. Wandering down the fairway, a harsh mix of gravel and dirty sand bubbling up into my sandals, I swallow my stomach and escape the crowd to seek salvation within the horse barn with my cousin, N.
I appreciate the animals on show here now more than anything, and unlike the rides, there’s no fee to see them (well, except the $10 parking pass). Sure, sometimes they stink, but each animal at the fair was raised by someone under the age of 20. And we’re talking some pretty substantial animals; pigs, cows, goats, chickens, horses… Animals that took a lot of time and hard work to bring up. To me, that’s way more interesting than a line of whining kids at the Zipper.
Which is another thing I like; the kids in the barns are often too young to ride the rides, and it’s incredibly cute to see them react to how big cows, pigs and horses really are. They’re amazed and completely in awe.
Better than sickened and completely green, right?
It’s just funny to me. I know it’s a common theme to my posts, but things are changing. I don’t have children of my own (and I’m certainly not in a rush to have any!), but I’m starting to see what my parents went through while they were raising me and it makes me really, really, really appreciate them. Yeah, they denied me tickets and cash at the fair. Yeah, I was disappointed and pouted the whole way home. But you know what? That was good for me. I needed that. It’s got to be difficult to say no to your kid (and I’m sure that my parents lost lots of sleep over it. Haha), but I understand why it needs to be done. Sometimes “no” hurts, but it’s the right answer in the long run. Some things just have to be denied so all things are not expected.
That said, we all need limitations and restraints if we are expected to become civilized adults.
They keep us back in our seats, face-to-face with reality, and safe at all times.
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