County fair memories

 Lollipop pops as big as my head, the not quite tall enough sign at the roller coaster. Sticky hands, blue or pink lips depending on the cotton candy you ate. The smell of peanuts roasting and the never-ending popcorn popping. Midway games and someone shouting they had won, hoisting a four-foot purple teddy bear he gave to his girlfriend. Water guns shooting into a clown's mouth, and the winner got a choice of cheap toys. Moms wiping hands and mouths, a never-ending battle as Dad handed out tickets for the rides, like Boats going around in a water-filled pool. A little kids' Ferris wheel filled with happy faces as parents snapped pictures, sure that one would be on the family Christmas cards.

As darkness fell, the entire place became a rainbow of colored lights, some blinking, others not. Screaming people on the mother of all coasters lit up with strobe lights, making you wonder if that's what a bad trip felt like. Hot dogs and greasy fries smothered with ketchup for dinner, leaving their mark on every kid's shirt. And just like that, the fair announced it was closing for the night, promising to be open tomorrow, as parents took their kids' sticky hands, some carried by tired dads and moms walking slowly with tired kids in tow. Two yellow stuffed monkeys and a bag of half-eaten peanuts would go home and be proudly displayed on a bedroom shelf.
The ride home had hardly begun, and three tired kids were asleep before the lights of the fair were behind them. Mom and Dad talked quietly, looking back at their kids' smiling faces, knowing this day would always be remembered, even in sleep. Back home, Dad carried the little ones inside as the older of the bunch walked slowly, dragging two yellow monkeys behind him. No teeth brushing tonight, no stories to be read, or glasses of water, just a deep sleep dreaming of colored lights and never-ending popping of popcorn—all in all, the perfect day at the fair.
Mike  2026