Sweet Memories

While I'm currently living in the spirit of loving who I've been, who I am, and who I will be, I feel like pouring myself on all of you. Something in me says "this girl wants OUT", and I'm dying to share my life with you! This story is a true memoir about something I always looked forward to from my toddler years through my young adult-hood while living in a small town. Hope you enjoy.

Sweet Memories

I fondly recall my childhood days in a two stop-light, one mini-market town where everyone knew everyone. Our coroner was personally known by nearly everyone, and it wasn’t unusual to see Tucker and Gary, the town cops, drive by my house at least once a day. My eye doctor used to have me over for dinner and, if the car broke down, all Daddy had to do was walk around the corner to Louie Fusco’s house and ask him to fix it, no questions asked. My hometown valued friendships and we enjoyed helping each other.

I always wondered why we didn’t do more together as a community, since we were such a small town. Nonetheless, sweetness rolled around the second week every August when our town held its yearly seven-day carnival. Those nights were filled with extra-buttered popcorn; bittersweet, dripping, hot caramel apples on a stick; and cotton candy so sweet that Mom nearly had an aneurysm thinking about our upcoming cavities. The taste of funnel cakes with extra powdered sugar was a tradition, too, that she and I shared as we sat curbside watching our friends continually loose the coin-operated eight-ball game. These became savored memories that were forever glued in my heart.

Gut-wrenching rides like the Tilt-A-Whirl, the SuperSlide and the Swings quenched my eager spirit so much that the thought of riding them nearly created an ants-in-my-pants experience. Although I enjoyed a good laugh watching the senior citizens dance to the country band, dodging the crowd was the founding of a new swing move that only I could have mastered. It was always amusing to see the older ladies from church gathered under the town library hall, near the Superslide, playing Bingo on old cart tables and chairs donated from one of the few churches in our town. They were entertaining to watch, mostly because of their competitive attitudes. A group of ladies devoted to their game, I still saw them as I jolted to that end of the carnival, after three hours of hopping between rides, to catch my next slide down the SuperSlide. It wasn’t unusual to see Miss. Mary, the smiley, 30-year town librarian, who had a hunch back and white hair, sipping a large cup of fresh-squeezed lemonade and walking around investigating the tables to make sure there were enough Bingo chips. She was always such a sweet, helpful lady.

Probably one of the glorious moments during the carnival was watching my softball coaches get soaked at the dunking booth. One after the other, they proudly sat on the end of the booth waiting for players to hit the small, circular, white button. My turn finally came around and, when I was forced to listen to my coach jokingly patronize my pitching skills, I decided to roll with my adrenaline rush and throw the tennis balls as hard as I could. After two or three missed shots and the ringing voice of my coach, I eliminated all rules to the game, ran to the white button and pressed it as hard as I could. She fell in every time that way. I felt overly exuberated after dunking her, like a victorious, Olympic athlete who scored a ten on her recent competition against a more experienced opponent. My team endured a strenuous season of softball training, including endless laps around the field for undelivered strike-outs, so I looked forward to this part of the carnival.

But, by far, the one thing during the carnival that brought numbing sensations to my body was the everyday taste of those out-of-this-town (literately), thicker and juicier than ever buffalo burgers. And all I had to do to get my hands on one was walk one block! Those suckers were twice the size of our normal burgers, the ones that every one bought from Ted’s Meat Market. Ol’ Teddy may have had some beefy sized cattle that fixed a scrumptious meal for country folk, but when these juicy babies were smoked over the grill in the American Legion, they immediately transformed into heavenly beings. It didn’t even occur to us that they were overpriced for a small town carnival. We dropped the same price for a buffalo burger that we did a pound of ground beef, but hey, we all knew a craving satisfied was certainly worth it!

I’ll never forget the nights I would come home, after hours already spent with my neighborhood at the carnival, to sit beside my opened bedroom window and listen to the country band play as everyone went home. Living two streets up from the yearly festivities brought several advantages like this, including having a place to store all the beta fish we won while tossing rings over beer bottles. The most rewarding part about the close of the carnival evenings, though, was that since everything was heard from my bedroom window, I got to hear the jubilance of a tired, yet ecstatic crowd who ripped through games, food, and rides to experience life in a small town.

My eagerness to blend in with the crowd and ride rides grew as I anticipated experiencing the fullness of the carnival. Watching Main Street turn into a sea of fun-seeking friends made the twelve month wait worth it. Whether I was a child or an adult, I protected this special week of the year. And although living in a neighborhood with two stop-lights and one mini-market didn’t give me many options for fun, the many festivities and alluring smells of the carnival satisfied my every desire.