Archive for July 19th, 2009

In the spring and summer months, carnivals sometimes set up in shopping centers in various zones in the city. This latter-day descendant of the Travelling Circus or camp meeting draws attention with its towering ferris wheel and, at night, bright lights. The other day we drove past one in the Ridgelea Mall Parking lot, and the kids insisted on checking it out. “I’m not taking you now,” I said, “but we can find out how long they’ll be here.”

It turned out to be opening at 6 p.m. through tonight, Sunday. The kids asked if we could come back. I thought it over and decided we could, on Saturday. I thought they might forget and I would be off the hook, but by no means. They counted off the days. “We’re going to the carnival in three days … two days … one and a half days … tonight.”

By the time we got dinner finished and the dishes washed, it was 9:30. For normal activities, this would be a problem, but the carnival is open ’till at least midnight, we could still go at this late hour, as long as the kids were still awake … and believe me they were.

We arrived in the sea of lights at just 10 p.m. The ferris wheel was spinning, the Kamakaze was spinning cars of people upside down, the flags on its crown pointing down as the cars on the bottom flew up, the Scrambler was scrambling, loud rock music blared, carnival barkers tried to get our attention for the games of chance and skill. The spectacle of it all was intense as we walked the circle of attractions and checked out the Space Ship 2000, the Haunted House, the Hall of Mirrors … the kids drank it in, skipping along.

Rides were not cheap, ranging from 3 to 5 tickets (24 tickets for $20). Angelo first tried the mini trains (evidently going on the TRE the day before did not satiate his train fixation) and Brand and Joanna went on the Space Ship, which is a sort of human centrefuge which gets people dizzy so they stumble as they get off.

Screaming, lights, loud music, the smell of fried and sugared food — we don’t do this every day, but when we do, it’s such a thrill. You can see why the kids wouldn’t forget to remind me to come out here.

I chose only one ride — my old favorite, the Scrambler. I got on and it spun around and around and I laughed and laughed. It reminds me of riding a running horse, actually, that rushing rhythm is like a gallop to me. It’s delicious, really, there’s no other way to explain it.

At the end of the evening (which due to the shortness of funds lasts only about an hour) Brand and Joanna flipped a coin for the last extra ticket, Brand so he could ride the Kamakaze and Jo so she could ride the Ferris Wheel. Brand won, and Jo cried. He considered giving her the ticket, but decided going on the ride is too important. He walked up the ramp, and was strapped into the cage behind four giggling teenage girls in tank tops just a couple years older than him. He held on. The cages began to swing back and forth, rising higher and higher until they hovered upside down and then came flying back to earth. I watched, heart in my throat. What else could I do? When he got off, he was all smiles. He made it. He would not, probably, analogize the experience with riding a running horse, something which he has never done, but he knows it was something transcendent.

When we leave, Angelo cries, partly because he doesn’t want to leave and partly because it’s 11 o’clock and far past his bedtime. We should all be at home now. The music blares and the rides hum in the background as we walk back into the night. I reflect that the carnival was worth it, at least once a year, for that moment of some kind of magic within a mundane summer.