The Carnival

This past weekend saw the annual carnival at my sons’ school. It made me realize that the anticipation of something often is the best part. I think that’s particularly true of carnivals.

As the trailers and folded up rides appeared in the parking lot, the excitement of it all made up for the lack of parking during pick-up and drop-off times. The reward for putting up with the extra traffic was getting to see a new ride appear each day. Talking with my boys after school was fun as they would ramble on about which rides they wanted to go on and which ones looked too scary.

Then, it opened, we took them to it and I remembered why I am not a big fan of carnivals.

Sure, there’s funnel cake, but does that really make up for the constant fear I feel as a rickety mass of metal and wires spins over my head while I wait for my kids to get to the front of the line on the giant fun slide, looking like it could break loose at any second? I admit that it comes close, but, no, it doesn’t quite make up for it (my apologies, funnel cake, I still love you). When you think of ways you might die suddenly apply the “was it worth it?” balancing test, carnival attendance doesn’t score well. Climbing Mt. Everest or wrestling alligators? Pretty cool. Waiting in line for the Tilt-O-Whirl with a cheap stuffed parrot your kids won at the dart throw game and you need to sterilize as soon as you get home under your arm? Fail.

I think it’s well known that the most dangerous things at any carnival are the rides and the carnies. But the threat of being driven insane due to overwhelming noise and crowds is also very real.

Does the music on the Gravitron and the Matterhorn really need to be that loud? And does it have to be all hip-hop songs with questionable lyrics? I’m no saint, but I’d rather not have my six and seven-year-old listening to the non-radio-edited version or “You Spin My Head Right Round” by Flo Rida while they are hurtled forward at 60 mph and subjected to strobe lights. It reminded me more of some sort of experimental treatment practice, like the one from A Clockwork Orange, than it did a ride.

And I think they may have been able to spare one ride or game, just so the walking space between the rides could have been wide enough for two people to fit through simultaneously. I’m not a big fan of rubbing up against strangers, though I’m sure there were plenty of people there who were just fine with that. In retrospect, that makes me even less fine with it.

About five minutes into the first day’s experience, I wondered why I ever felt excited about the whole thing in the first place. I suppose it was nice to see my sons excited and I shared in it. I do like going to theme parks and I love roller coasters, but the available space, overall cleanliness and the fact that the people I see performing ride maintenance have uniforms, professional looking tools and all their fingers and teeth are what really help me enjoy them more than the average carnival. Call me crazy.

I must admit, however, that I became very excited at one point. While my sons went through the fun house, I looked to my left and saw a man wearing a red hat. On the hat, from the distance I was at, I would have sworn I saw the symbol from The Greatest American Hero. But, just as I planned to ask him where he got the hat or even offer him all the money in my pocket for his, the symbol came into focus and I realized it was just a California Angels (or Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim, whatever) hat.

The feeling of disappointment that followed stayed with me for the rest of the three days of the carnival.