I was making lunch the other day in my kitchen and the song Life is a Carnival by the Band started to play.
As I spread peanut butter on my sandwich and hummed along to the familiar tune, I started wondering what they meant by “Life is a Carnival”.
It got me thinking about the carnivals I visited over the years and how every experience was different.
As a child, my thoughts go to delicious aromas, colorful lights, and enormous stuffed animals. When I close my eyes, I smell the burned sweetness of cotton candy and the buttery aroma of a fresh batch of popcorn. I remember the pride of carrying an oversized purple dragon around the park knowing that it was won just for me by my dad who possessed superhuman ballon dart powers. And on the car ride home, as I licked the last bits of cotton candy off my sticky fingers, I wished the night would never end.
As a tweenager, going to the carnival brought my first feelings of independence. My parents dropped me off at the local “Friends of Insert Name of Church here” annual event and I got to hang out, alone, with my buddies. It was summer and it was after dark when wonderous things could happen. No homework to do and we could sleep as late as we wanted in the morning. We could enjoy the marvels of the carnival without the embarrassment of parents checking in. We could hold hands with a cute boy, play whack-a-mole, and ride whatever rides we chose. We were free, in charge, and never wanted to leave.
Then when I became a parent of a young child, the carnival took on a more sinister veneer. In the role of the protector, I spotted the cracks on the surface. The painted red smiles on costumed clowns masked sad, time-worn faces. Silver duct tape barely kept the Tilt-A-Whirl in place. And, the bearded ladies and knife-swallowing sideshow characters were more terrifying than entertaining. It was a relief to find our car in the makeshift dirt parking lot and make our escape home.
As a parent of a tweenager, I recall dropping off my kids with a sinking feeling in my stomach. I hoped that they would be safe from the seamy underbelly of the beast. Would they be cheated out of all of their hard-earned savings as they tried to win the Spongebob doll for the girl they were trying to impress? Would the conjures of the mysterious fortune teller give them nightmares? Would they throw up the corn dogs and blue slushie drinks on the Crypt Keeper roller coaster? I was grateful when Andy’s mom delivered them home in one piece.
And then as a grandparent, it seems like the cycle brings us back full circle. Although I don’t have any grandchildren yet (no pressure kids), I did have a chance to see the joy on my father’s face when the carnival near my parent’s summer home came to town. With me as the responsible adult by his side, my dad experienced the wonder through the eyes of my children. We wanted to stay there forever. Without a doubt, there was popcorn. Yes, there was cotton candy and of course, he won prizes for all of us. He was still superhuman after all of these years.
So I guess life IS a carnival.
Depending on where you are on your journey, the thrill of the ride can be wonderful or terrifying. Some days it’s exhilarating to be at the peak and other days things are moving so fast you want to get off.
It’s unpredictable but isn’t it grand?
Thanks for recounting this journey, Marji! So relatable!
Interesting perspective, Marji. Got me to go back and look at Robbie Robertson’s lyrics:
“Hey, buddy, would you like to buy a watch real cheap?
Here on the street
I got six on each arm
And two more 'round my feet
Life is a carnival
Believe it or not
Life is a carnival
Two bits a shot…”
Seems like he’s talking primarily about your parental view, a little wary, maybe cynical, trying to sell your wares, not get taken advantage of, but also make sure you take your “shot.” 😎