I wanted to go the carnival. Mother asked me why I wanted to go to a carnival. I said I did because what’s more fun than a carnival? Mother said pretty much everything was. I’ve never been to a carnival but the other children said you gotta go because it’s a carnival. They said it like a carnival was a burning bush or something.
Father relented and said we could go to the carnival. The carnival was on a Sunday. You’d think that would get us out of going to church that Sunday. You’d think wrong. Mom mashed down my hair with her own spit and elbow grease, picked the lint off my tweed coat, and made me put on by big brother’s shoes. We suffered through the sermon, same as Christ. Then, and only then, could we go to the carnival.
They had pony rides. Everything in this world is a cheat, I think.