Keep on Pedaling

Back in the 1960's a county or regional fair was a big deal, above any earthly place we local Homerville kids could hope to go. At age twelve, when I was invited to go to one, you’d have thought I died and went to heaven. My best friend for the week, Danny Ray, and his parents asked me if I wanted to go with them to the regional fair in Waycross. Heck, yeah! Are you kidding me? I ran home to beg my mother to let me go, and not only did she say yes, she reached in her purse and pulled out Abe Lincoln: five dollars! Life is good. The Smiths drive us over to Waycross, and Danny Ray and I are about to wet our pants with anticipation. Uncle Haskell, as I called him, parks the car, and the fairgrounds are buzzing with excitement: multi-colored lights, people everywhere, rides slinging kids around, music, and five bucks in my hot little pocket. WAHOO! Uncle Haskell buys our tickets, and we are in. Before you can get to the amusement park and rides, everyone had to go through a maze lined with prize-winning jelly, pies, cakes, hogs, goats, chickens, and rabbits. After about five minutes of oohing and aahing over the winners’ triumphs, we came to the end of the maze and walked through a big gate that opened onto the amusement park. To my twelve-year-old eyes, the scene was like a new day breaking, and I could hear angels singing: AAAHHH, OOOHHH, AAAAAAHHHHHH! Lights, rides, people, games, and me with five big ones: Heaven. Right in front of me, a man called for my attention. “Hey, kid, come here. I want to show you something.” The Smiths were busy looking around and Danny Ray took off for something that had caught his eye, so I went over to see what the man had. Behind him on a big board were all kinds of prizes. “See these prizes, kid? I want to give you one. Which one do you want?” I looked them over, all kinds of stuffed animals, and pointed at a big, blonde fluffy dog. “Okay, the dog. Give me a quarter, and all you have to do is throw these three balls in that basket. Do that, and the dog is yours. You can throw three balls in a basket, can’t you boy?” Humph, are you kidding me? Sounds like a deal, I’m thinking. He even shows me how. One, two, three – his balls go right in. He lets me have a warm-up toss, and it sails in: sure thing. Heck, what’s a quarter when you have five bucks? On my first attempt, I got two of the three balls in the basket. “That’s good, kid. Not many people get two out of three on their first try. Give me another quarter, and if you get all three balls in this time, I’ll give you the dog and your money back.” Who could say no to that great opportunity? Fast forward the story five minutes, and the guy has all my money. I didn’t even have money for a Coke and a corn dog, much less that big, stuffed dog. I spent the rest of the night wandering around the fair, watching Danny Ray wave at me as he passed by on the next ride he was on. Darn him. It was a sad night for a twelve-year-old, but I learned a valuable lesson or two: First, no Las Vegas for me in the future. If a guy at a little country fair could take five dollars from me in five minutes, imagine what they could get out of me in Sin City. Second, if I ever wanted a stuffed dog again, I would save my hard-earned money and buy one. There’s no such thing as a sure thing. Pay cash.