As a younger child, my family would make annual trips to the County Fair in Albany. My parents would go to see all the neat exhibits and other “grown up things”, as I as a child called them. My main enjoyment of the fair when I was younger was the fair rides and junk food.
My view of the fair when I was little was one filled with wonderment and awe. The screams fading in and out as people shot up in the air on rickety fair rides and the greasy sweet smell that filled the air and made your skin feel slimy overwhelmed me with excitements, which often lead to me annoying my parents. I would run around there legs like a puppy tripping them, pointing at all the rides and other worldly stuff I saw. My parents though, as smart as they are, would tell me to behave or I wouldn’t be allowed to do the things I wanted, which in turn would make me behaved like a well-trained mature show dog.
My parents would then drag me forcibly through the dull boring exhibits inside when all I wanted at that moment was to be out in that sunny, grease heavy air, frolicking in the carnival. Mom and Dad though, would drag me through what seemed like endless rows of shabby tables set up in a brightly florescent lit cement floored and high ceilinged building. The tables held things for sale that my parents would never buy and held no interest to me, or they would have some jewel or priceless artifact an old person was showing off to everyone for whatever reason.
Finally after what seemed like hours and hours of walking through row after row of these dull tables and my constant nag to my parents to go do something else, we would finally leave the large cement floored and bland building. The original energy of when I first came to the fair that day was always instantly restored as we entered the outside through the heavy glass push doors and you could instantly hear the jumble of lively conversations and the smell of the greasy food and sweet grass.
With my attitude now changed... [continues]
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