Oh the Nostalgia...

So every fourth of July since I was little, LO-town (my hometown) hosts an event of pure magic and wonder--a carnival downtown and fireworks over the lake. I remember my grandma taking my sister and me, dressed in matching sunsuits, to the carnival summer after summer. We'd ride the "small rides" as my dad had outlawed the bigger ones for fear that the gentleman that had put the ride together had thrown back one too many the night before and missed an essential bolt of some sort (insert eye-roll here). We'd also get some sort of forbidden treat like cotton candy or a snowcone. Later, we'd stay up late, twirl sparklers through the air, and watch the fireworks from my grandparents' house on the lake. It was amazing.

This year Lily was old enough to enjoy the festivities--at least part of them, anyway. Fireworks at 10pm don't really jive with her 8pm bedtime. I was sooo excited to take her to the carnival, and couldn't wait to snap pictures of her on the "small rides", especially the carousel. After her nap, Husband, Lily, my mom and I drove downtown LO-town. As soon as the carnival entered my sight line I was flooded with memories. We parked, strapped Lily in her stroller and with a goofy grin plastered on my face we walked onto the "midway". It was...disgusting. Suddenly, I turned to my mom in horror. "Was it always like this???" I asked her, my face surprisingly ashen in the glow of the afternoon sun. She laughed and replied with a curt, "Yep!" Oh for the love. How could I have been so wrong as a child? How could I have not seen past the dizzying lights, spinning horses, and gigantic stuffed flamingos to see the carnival for what it really was--a nasty, dirty place that smelled of chemical toilets and nast-ass fried food? The people were gross (think mothers with titty tats and menthol cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, dragging kids with Kool-Aid moustaches around), the prizes were speckled with dirt, and there was yellow, police-grade caution tape sectioning off a quarter of the carousel. Yuck. My hopes of a perfect picture of a smiling Lily on a dazzling painted horse were dashed. No child of mine was going to set hide nor hair on a caution taped carousel. Suddenly, I knew exactly why my "over-protective" father had put the cabash on the big rides. The "gentlemen" and "ladies" working at the carnival looked like they were on something a little harsher than a few too many drink-a-roonies.

As I walked through the streets, utterly horrified, wallowing in disappointment, my daughter was pointing frantically at everything, a ginormous grin covering her gorgeous face. She was loving it. We turned a corner and a three-story high slide came into view. Lily tore at her stroller straps, attempting to break free and run, arms flailing, up the rusty metal staircase to the top of the slide to go "Weeeee!" (see Language explosion blog entry). I looked at Husband. Husband looked at me. My mom was smiling and nodding at Lily. I took a deep breath as I watched kid after kid come down the slide, wind in their hair, perma-grins plastered on their faces (I think the Kool-aid 'staches made their smiles stand out even more, but I digress). "I could take her on my lap", Husband croaked, equally as shell-shocked as I. I knelt down to Lily's level. "Do you want to go on the slide with Daddy?", secretly hoping she'd chicken out. "YESSSSSSS!" she replied, elated. So Husband dished out $6 (I did some quick math and had a very fleeting thought at this moment that maybe I made the wrong career choice, cause those peeps are banking!), hoisted Lily out of her stroller, and began walking up the metal staircase, one step at a time. As I stood at the bottom with my mom, watching my daughter and husband slide down the faded green plastic on a burlap sack, I realized that its our duty as parents to allow our children to live in a world of magic and wonder, even though we know as adults that the world can be a nasty place.