Don't Close Your Eyes on the Tilt-a-Whirl

I felt a little bad about making my dad look like a loudmouth who swore a lot in yesterday's post, so here is my attempt at softening him up a bit.

I was about four years old, maybe five, when dad and mom took us on a trip to an exotic land. Wisconsin. Now it might not seem so exotic, but to a gaggle of kids who never went further than grandma and grandpa's house it was a land of wonder. Early on a Saturday morning we were all piled into the 1953 Plymouth for the trip. My spot was in the rear window-well where I was expected to sleep the whole way. I didn't, it was too exciting. After hours of driving on hilly two lane roads we arrived at the lakefront cottage, or I should say, nearly lakefront. It was a small shack at the top of a hill, the lake at least a hundred yards away. I remember walking in and looking up. There was one large light bulb in the exact center of the 'cottage', and below were walls that did not go all the way up, that divided the thing into four rooms. It didn't matter that the place was a dump, we loved it.

One thing we had noticed as we drove through the small town nearest the lake, is that they were having a carnival. My dad managed to tamp down the clamor for stopping by promising we'd go the next day. Well the next day came and instead of going to the carnival, and riding the tilt-a-whirl until we puked, dad took us to go visit some old friends of his from the army. We were not happy, so dad again promised that we'd stop on the way back to the cottage. After an afternoon of beer and adult conversation, punctuated by frequent calls of  "When are we going?", dad finally put us all in the car for the ride back. Unfortunately, as we rounded the curve on the road where the carnival was being held, it was obvious that it had closed. They were already in the process of tearing it all down. The cries of anguish must have got to my dad, because he turned into the field where the roustabouts were busy dismantling the rides. He parked the car, and got out. From the back seat I could see him talking to various men. They were pointing and gesturing, and after a few minutes dad started to walk back to the car. Behind him I could see the tilt-a-whirl, and the merry-go-round blaze back to life. I don't know how much he paid those guys to open it up just for us, but if you knew my dad it must have hurt. He wasn't the kind of guy to throw money around.