My girlfriend and I decided to go to the demolition derby at the County Fair Saturday night. Can’t remember the last time I went to a fair and now I don’t know why I ever stopped.
When I was a teenager, we went to every fair we could find within 100 miles. My girlfriends and I would pile in somebody’s pickup and go, for the rides, the shows, (the Wrangler butts-shh!), and the concerts and we’d stay til they shut the place down an herded us out. I rode every cool ride there was, flirted with all the boys, giggled and ate funnel cakes and drank Pepsi and went home with big long stringers of ride tickets. I remember always having to find someone to ride the rides with me because most of “my” girls would yak. Sissies.
There’s just something about the humid night air in a farm town that makes good memories. The smells and the lights and sounds bring it all back. I can’t tell you how many times I fell in love under those swirling lights, even if it was just for the weekend. Farm boys have always had a place in my heart.
I was thinking that some of the best times of my life happened at a little old county fair in some podunk town in Colorado. Going back this weekend woke that up in me, made me remember what it was like to be 16 again, holding some sweet boy’s hand with one hand and the stuffed animal he won me in another, walking around taking everything in interspersed with crazy adrenaline rushes from rickety rides like the Hammer and the Zipper. Sweet kisses at the tops of ferris wheels, the smell of horses, manure and popcorn, the not wanting to go home feeling. I miss that.
Thanks for the reminder. Life is sweet.

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