There’s nothing like a fair. The smells. The sights. The interesting characters running the rides and manning the booths. I feel immersed inside a fiction story when I am at such a place. Wanting to read every person’s backstory. What led each of them to live like a vagabond? Traveling the country to set up and break down every booth and tiny roller coaster from week to week. A life of props and mirages.
My life revolves around my child and my husband – and my work, to some degree. We’re stuck together like ferris wheel seats, following each other up and down, up and down. When one of us changes, the others have to adjust, our places constantly shifting a little.
Since we moved into a new house two weeks ago, our son, Asher, already has little neighborhood friends. One, in particular, rings our doorbell to see if Ash can come out to play – already. This is a completely different experience from our old neighborhood. Early on, in our townhouse community, we learned that the kids on our street weren’t the friendliest or most polite children one could meet. And not one of these small children ever rung our doorbell. They were likelier just to dig in our dirt or roam around in our backyard, before we had a fence. (Good fences sometimes do make good neighbors.)
Nonetheless, things are changing. Our boy is all at once more removed from mom and dad. His world is expanding, and dad and I have to adjust. We need to shift a little lower, so that our son can go higher, perhaps. Eric and I were confiding in one another last night about the change and the anxieties it brings. About the letting go and how its both joyous and painful. And totally necessary. Neither of us are quite prepared to let our child run free with neighborhood boys, but we’ll get there.
The wheel in the sky keeps on turning.