There seemed to always be some occasion which brought a carnival around Ponce. Like carnivals here, one day they would suddenly appear in an empty lot. Where there was once darkness and silence, there would be brightly colored flashing lights and the sounds of happy screams filling the air.
We didn't have money for frivolity and dad didn't have the patience for crowds and loud noises, but that didn't stop us from begging mom and dad to take us to the carnival every time one would come around. One night, our wish was granted.
The evening started well enough, but as the crowds grew so did the chaos. We've learned from living overseas that not everyone queues up in an orderly line as they do in America. We were about to learn this lesson for the first time.
We were standing in line for a spinning type of ride. The kind with octopus arms that had buckets at the end for thrill seekers to sit in and then get whipped around for a few minutes of pleasure. As we got closer to the front of the line, our excitement grew. So did the pressing of the crowd. I don't know what made me more nervous, the unruly crowd or dad's anger at being pulled and pressed upon. Finally, we were close enough to be next. When, at last, the ride operator opened the entrance gate, it was like being caught in a wave. Dad tried to keep us all together as we pushed our way through to pick a bucket to sit in.
The next thing I knew Vic was crying saying that his shoe had fallen off. Sure enough, we had been pressed so tightly together that someone must have stepped on his foot and as Vic moved forward, his shoe had not only fallen off, it had fallen down the platform onto the ground below. Dad was furious. When dad got furious it was not only nerve-wracking, but it was also a sight to behold. In his fury, he was able to make things happen that normally did not happen.
In this case, dad was able to get the ride operator to wait to start the ride while he squeezed his way through the crowds, down the stairs, find Vic's shoe and press his way back again. By that time, I just wanted it all to be over. I think the whole family must have felt the same way.
It was the last carnival we went to while we were in Puerto Rico. Every time they would come to town, I would get a little twinge of hope. Maybe we could go again, maybe this time it would be different. Even as a third-grader, deep down inside I knew better.
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