So every year, our town puts on this little shindig. Vendors set up booths throughout the downtown area and the crowds come because... because... because, as far as I can tell, they can. I hope local residents will read this understanding that we go every year and buy some funnel cake or Italian ice or whatever strikes our fancy, and will forgive me for saying that after eight years, we've pretty much seen what there is to see. Eight times. As far as festivals go, it's alright. But it's not spectacular, and once you've been, you've been.
As I headed out this morning, I wondered as I have in years past why I was bothering to go downtown. In the process of pushing a stroller and monitoring a walking four-going-on-fourteen-year-old, I let the question remain unanswered. Besides, the answer would surely be nothing more profound than, "It's something to do." Our town is a nice enough place to live, but it isn't exactly bustling with activity. (For the most part, we like this aspect of our town). Anyhow, I put the question out of my mind in the interest of supervising the young lady now walking beside me, now lagging behind me, now rushing ahead of me.
We made the rounds... a new artist's shop, a bag of candy from a local church, observing and narrowly escaping participating in the pony rides (she didn't have the courage to act upon her slight desire to ride, which suited me perfectly), Italian ices, a chat with a friend, the car show (quietly appreciated by the youngest male of our clan from whom I almost expected a Tim Allenesque "Ar, ar, ar") , a minor disagreement about going in the bouncy house, and then the promised balloons, one of which caused great heartache after caressing a holly bush to its detriment.
But before the balloon popped, I looked at my big girl balancing her way along a low brick wall, her bright red balloon floating behind her beautiful, curl-fringed pink face.
And I guess that's why we go every year. Our children won't remember the crowds, the cluttered streets, the old worn out sights of the festival. They'll remember marveling at the old cars, watching the ponies, getting a long-sought for balloon, and mastering the brick wall balance beam.
As for me, I will remember Luke walking among antique automobiles, looking as comfortable and big as everyone else. I will remember Elisabeth debating whether or not she wanted to ride a pony, and feeling relieved that she was content to wait. I will remember her balancing on the wall, demonstrating so perfectly the very essence of childhood, carefree, determined, sticky, and beautiful.
And I'm sure we'll go again next year, not because the festival will offer anything new or exciting, but because our children might.
No comments:
Post a Comment