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Macaroni Dad

'Cause Dads Love Macaroni, Too!

December 12, 2014
The Big Top

While rambling on about almost everything and nothing at the same time this morning my good friend and I discussed wives, politics, football, weather, grey hairs and how our lives seem to parallel that of a traveling side-show.

What exactly is it you do on the weekends he said to me...what is this Macaroni-Kid stuff all about?

I thought for a moment and then decided how I was going to phrase things so he could understand.

Well, I said...first we arrive on the scene. My wife gives me the "stay in the car" command while she flees on foot to find someone in charge or with a clipboard to ask them what is going on and where we are supposed to set up. If we determine that we are in the right place, my wife makes a Saturday Night Fever-dictator type gesture into the air and fires off a flare which is my signal to start driving swiftly in her general direction. This means, pay attention, keep eye contact, don’t get lost, stay off the grass, avoid trees, curbs, people dressed as elves, wandering children and other husbands who are generally scared and bewildered because their wives just gave them the death-stare-get here-now-ultimatum. After careening through a smash-up derby style crash-course of other husbands driving minivans on two wheels at 45 miles per hour in reverse, I power-slide into the precise parking zone my wife has indicated by pointing at the ground and tapping her foot in the grass. This is to be our domain for the next 12 hours or until it rains ridiculously and sends us all home. 

Some husbands might find this an opportune time to rest and catch their breath, but I know better. This is the time when one’s wife might appear in the window to grab them by the throat before they are chucked from the vehicle and told to ‘get busy.’ Getting busy means leaping from your wrecked and smoldering vehicle and making sure you are sprinting before your feet ever hit the floor. Grab the bins with the crafts and the banners with the signs on them and put them there; then get the stickers and the markers and they go there. Get some drinks and some snacks and some ice in the Styrofoam thing because this is now an encampment where we will eat, drink, breathe and sleep for the rest of the day. Set up the tables with the cloths and the plastic and the bungies and the chairs and the extension cord with the light because it will be dark and you will still be here sitting in the drizzling rain wondering where your Saturday went. Above all don’t question authority or step out of line, because you will get fed to the lions and will still be expected to remain at your post until the show is over. But it seems we are forgetting something...Ah Ha! The Tent!

“The tent?” said my buddy, “This sounds like a circus or something.”

A circus...indeed!

So up goes the tent and there go the trapezes. Tell the bearded lady it’s time. Bring in the snarling, wolverine like child who is hiding under the table wondering when she can start riding the carnival rides because she is still belly-aching about being here today. Grab this, hoist that, stop touching things until given the order to do so and don’t start thinking you know how to set up the cannon that launches people through the air into a net, because there are specific instructions to set that up and only the wife understands. Here come the jungle cats and the trick elephants and the crazy clown show is about to start. Husband - get your sequined blue Speedo on because you will be diving 100 feet into a bucket of Jello in about 2 minutes...fat lady - start singing!

It happens fast and furious and it happens most weekends. Although it does make most Saturdays and Sundays a blur, it also makes most weekends completely memorable.  

After being part of the traveling circus for several years now, we have apparently been accepted into the community of tent people and are even on a first name basis with some. Better yet, I don’t have to watch entire football games on Saturday and Sunday, but can usually just catch up on the highlights on the news which saves tons of time. Better still, saving the world on the XBOX is a thing of the past and now left to other fully grown men and/or their deserving children. Best ever...? At separate events this past weekend, I got to watch as children between the ages of 9 months and 10 years approached our traveling Macaroni-Circus tent to decorate stenciled Christmas trees any way they wanted to. Some spent a few minutes, but some spent half an hour making intricate decorations using crayons, paper, stickers, stamps, markers, buttons, gems and glue. Hopefully many are adorning the refrigerator or a wall somewhere special in their home. I watched one young lady (about 8) spend more than 20 minutes putting special attention into the details of her Christmas tree while her mother smiled and watched patiently. When the youngster had finished, she signed her name on the front and below the tree wrote, "To: Grandpa." When I realized I had just seen a young heart and mind hand craft probably the greatest Christmas gift Grandpa could ever ask for, I understood that I had just witnessed something pretty special. My guess is that when Grandpa gets his gift, whether on Christmas or before, it will find a special place in his heart and on his desk or refrigerator.  

So for now...this circus work isn’t so bad. I will work for peanuts.

 

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