The earliest recorded Monroe County Fair was held in 1830. I imagine at that time it WAS the highlight of what must have been a very hot and labor intensive Summer. The farmers and families gathering in what is now Washington Square with their summer harvests and ready-for-slaughter chickens stacked in wobbling crates in the backs of their wagons, spring pigs (Charlotte couldn't save 'em all) in tow. A country girl in a summer bonnet and cotton frock hoping her Daddy would offer his hand to the boy in the straw hat with a penny for each of them. "Two lemonades, please maam." It was a different time then but the inherent magic of the county fair lives even now. I know because I've tasted that magic for myself...it was warm, sweet, sticky and made me smile. Oh wait, that was the funnel cake...
August 2007. Nica and I are walking through the midway, watching our children in front of us. They are shoulder to shoulder sharing a secret about heaven only knows what but it's making them both smile. Dylan's skin is golden brown and his hair has been highlighted by the sun in a way that women pay hundreds of dollars hoping, impossibly, to replicate. Savannah's freckles have made their way out of her fair skin and she's gazing at my seven year old in a way that earns her the honor and distinction of being, "the first little girl who ever loved my Dylan." The late afternoon sun is fading to an early evening glow and "THAT" girl catches my eye. I stare for a moment and then it hits me. I want to be "that" girl. I've been lots of girls in my life but NEVER "the girl leaving the fair with the biggest prize from the midway." In her case, the prize was a hot pink, hairy monkey that I am certain took up the entire corner of her "High School Musical" themed bedroom. Now, ocassionally logic will shatter my undisciplined knack for daydreaming and it immediatelty occurred to me that even if I had that monkey my 1450 sq. ft. ranch couldn't acccomdate such a creature. Whatever. I tell Nica what I'm thinking and she nods her head in excitement, "You should have Tom win you something." Here comes that damned logic again, "Nah, what are the chances of winning anyway."
Two times round on the Himilayan, one round on the big swings, a go on the Scrambler, a spin on the giant ferris wheel, a rambling ride on the little rollercoaster fashioned like a Chinese dragon, a couple of corn dogs, a lemon shake up, an elephant ear from cousin Jonny's wagon and a cruise through the goat petting area and we are on our way out. Sticky hands, dirty feet and bellies full of sugar we're happy to have been there and done that, another year at the county fair. As we wait for the kiddos to exit the house of mirrors, "the very last thing we do, please, please, puh-leasssssse" I'm looking at basketball toss. You know, the one where hoop is barely big enough for the ball. A pack of corn fed, teenage boys are spending their Daddy's blue collar paycheck trying in vain to sink the ball. Nica sees me eyeing the situation and elbows my arm, "You should try it." with her eyebrows raised and eyes twinkling with encouragement and I'm wanting to pick up what she's putting down. That logic monster is rearing it's unsolicited head even as I slide my hand into my pocket. Pulling two slightly damp and very wrinkled dollars from my pocket I know there's no way in Hell I'm gonna make it. One ball, $2. Three balls, $5. "Okay, okay, I'll do it." About this time Dylan and his little honey emerge from the mirrored mansion just in time to see the carnie bounce me the ball. "There's no way I am going to make it." Dribble, dribble, dribble, shoot. The ball bounces off the rim and pretty much right back to me in a "white guys can't jump and short, white girls REALLY can't jump" kind of way. Dammit, I hate being right. Tom hands the carnie a five dollar bill despite my being ready to just walk away and the carnie bounces me another opportunity. As I am standing there, ball in hand, who should stroll by but "that" girl. Her hot pink, hairy monkey riding high on her shoulders makes the whole of her plus the monkey at least nine feet tall. A nine foot reminder of all the girls I've been and those I still want and CAN be. Possibilty meets opportunity. I'm a dreamweaver by trade and "carpe diem" rings in my ears. Dribble, dribble, shoot...nice arc...the ball hits the inside edge of the back of the basket, swirls half way around and is squeezed by a net, not stretched from use, on the way down. My hand goes first to my open mouth as I spin on my heel and take in the faces of my cheering section and then to the outstretched, waving and waiting high-five attached to my first born son. Please never let me forget the way he was looking at me. "Dude, she made it!" echos from the farm boys and I'm in Nica's arms, a victory hug, she knew I could do it. Please never let me forget the way she was looking at me. She was a ribbon winning jelly and pickle maker that year but I was "that girl." My sweet souled angel of a mate said he knew I was going to make it. When asked how he simply replied, "faith." I don't know how I did it.
I walked away from the basketball toss with a ginormous stuffed penguin with a orange beaked smile. At that time my sweet baby Jake was obsessed with "Happy Feet" and being too little to go that night my prize became his prize upon seeing it. Please don't ever let me forget the way he looked at me that night.
I don't know how I did it.
As a five foot one and a half inch, white girl who grew up watching rodeo and old school NASCAR while tucked under her daddy's arm I am an unlikely basketball fan. I only swore allegience to the Piston's when they defeated the Lakers for the NBA Championship in 2004. My sister was in LA and I'd taken to telling her that her team "wasn't jack without Shaq" beacuse it had a nice ring. Little did we know then that Shaq's departure from the Lakers would indeed leave a hole under the basket where he had once stood. The Lakers had home court advantage and four future Hall of Famer's but the series became known as the "five game sweep." Chauncey Billups was named MVP and I was hooked. In my humble opinion the Piston's are one of Detroit's few redeeming qualities and that's a stretch. Though they have claim to the name they bounce their game balls in Rochester Hills. Oh, I digress. I have the attention span of a chimpmunk at times and a rambling tendency to let one good story meld into another. (Note to self: Disect my love of bball in blah, blah, blah, blabber, blogger mouth, essay form at another time. To that I reply, "Duly noted. Thanks, Self.")
Again, I don't know how I did it. Luck? Fate? Who knows. Perhaps I just willed it to be and it was. That was the day my "list of girls I still want to be" was born. This past summer found me crossing another "girl I want to be" off the list as I was a second place ribbon winner in the photography division at, again, the Monroe County Fair. I sense a pattern here.
I find that with a little daydreaming and a bit of imagination my list grows with each realization of titles yet unfilled. "Girl with a part in a community theater muscial" has recently been postponed as my work boot wearing, tool belt slinging, hottie of a husband's work schedule will get crazy just as rehersals would get going. Above and beyond all that I still long to be I am a mother. I take the responsibility of raising my children very seriously and thus they will always come first. The part of Grace in "Annie" will have to wait, I have children to grow.
So what comes next?
I don't know, can't predict and love a good surprise enough to not even try guessing. That's the thing about magic, I never know where I'm going to find it next or... where it will find me. But, you could bet your last dollar that when it arrives I'll be ready.
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