For the first five years of our residency on Cape Cod, we lived in a house now occupied by my mother and father. It borders on a field that the Barnstable County Fair opens once a year, to use as parking.
So it was inevitable that for the first few years we visited the fair. It’s a typical county fair – livestock, lots of crafts and junk for sale, carnival rides, games of chance and fair food. It’s small by most county fair standards, but so is the Cape.
Since then, I’ve avoided going. I don’t remember going once in the nine years since moving to the other side of town, though one or more of my kids typically ends up there.
James went on Sunday with his friend Tyler, and had a great time. He ate some stuff, got a bracelet, which allowed him unlimited use of the rides, and took in a few of the events.
Emmeline and Robert are looking forward to going (James is looking forward to going back, too). Grandma and Grandpa have promised to take them on one of the other bracelet days this week, so they can get their fill of rides.
I can’t quite put my finger on why I personally don’t like to go – I just don’t get a lot of enjoyment out of it. I dislike crowds, for one thing, but none of the fair’s attractions really muster any particular attraction to me at all. I just think it’s kind of boring.
I feel like a wet blanket, truth be told. I wish I could enjoy it, but I just don’t.