THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH
My boss took her daughter, Charliann, to the circus last night. When she told me they were going, I wished them well. I was delighted for her, at least at first.
I remember going to the circus with my parents when I was that little. I remember sitting on those long, silver metal bleachers, hearing each person stomping and clapping. I can still recall the smell of roasted peanuts and cotton candy and sawdust beneath our feet. And the bright lights and the seemingly endless line of scary clowns that would emerge from a tiny car, and the death-defying high wire acts and impossible acrobatic tricks. I was so excited to be there among the other families and their children beneath that huge circus tent.
It was a fascinating thing for a wide-eyed child to see rows tiny poodles walking on two feet as if they were little, cotton covered wind up toys. And in another ring - the huge, ferocious cats jumping through rings of fire, and mammoth elephants smiling and sitting back on their hind quarters for the roar of the crowd and the pleasure of their trainers. I was captivated by the beautiful female performers bedecked in their sequin and rhinestone costumes, flesh-toned fishnets, feathers and velvet, and the flutter of their eyelashes that seemed miles and miles long above their lipsticked smiles and snow white teeth.
I remember feeling a distinct, childlike fear of the ringmaster with his twisted mustache and pointy goatee. His red and gold satin bloomers and topcoat with the giant black buttons and the black top hat seemed to vivid, too flashy. He looked like the photographic depiction of the Devil to my innocent eyes. And he had a whip. An ominous black whip that he would crack and snap back with the flick of his pale wrist, calling the animals to the ring, one by one. He was sinister. He never smiled at the children when he announced the next act. He only widened his black-ringed eyes instilling a sense of terror in us. But the terror was supposed to have been from the danger of circus acts... or was it?
As the night at the circus went on, the trainers and the ringmaster became the enemy. Even the beautiful acrobats began to distort. Their painted faces became garish, and their long, fluttery lashes started to look more like spider legs. I felt sad for the tigers because of the way they would flinch and snarl when the whip would crack, or when a chair would be shoved at them. And the elephants' smiles seemed forced when you paid attention to their eyes instead of the positions they were sitting in for what seemed like far too long for such a large beast to endure. I wanted to rescue the tiny monkey that was play acting for loose change. I wanted to open the doors and let the circus animals out and watch them all run away.
My boss took her daughter, Charliann, to the circus last night. When she told me they were going, I wished them well. I was delighted for her, at least at first.
I remember going to the circus with my parents when I was that little. I remember sitting on those long, silver metal bleachers, hearing each person stomping and clapping. I can still recall the smell of roasted peanuts and cotton candy and sawdust beneath our feet. And the bright lights and the seemingly endless line of scary clowns that would emerge from a tiny car, and the death-defying high wire acts and impossible acrobatic tricks. I was so excited to be there among the other families and their children beneath that huge circus tent.
It was a fascinating thing for a wide-eyed child to see rows tiny poodles walking on two feet as if they were little, cotton covered wind up toys. And in another ring - the huge, ferocious cats jumping through rings of fire, and mammoth elephants smiling and sitting back on their hind quarters for the roar of the crowd and the pleasure of their trainers. I was captivated by the beautiful female performers bedecked in their sequin and rhinestone costumes, flesh-toned fishnets, feathers and velvet, and the flutter of their eyelashes that seemed miles and miles long above their lipsticked smiles and snow white teeth.
I remember feeling a distinct, childlike fear of the ringmaster with his twisted mustache and pointy goatee. His red and gold satin bloomers and topcoat with the giant black buttons and the black top hat seemed to vivid, too flashy. He looked like the photographic depiction of the Devil to my innocent eyes. And he had a whip. An ominous black whip that he would crack and snap back with the flick of his pale wrist, calling the animals to the ring, one by one. He was sinister. He never smiled at the children when he announced the next act. He only widened his black-ringed eyes instilling a sense of terror in us. But the terror was supposed to have been from the danger of circus acts... or was it?
As the night at the circus went on, the trainers and the ringmaster became the enemy. Even the beautiful acrobats began to distort. Their painted faces became garish, and their long, fluttery lashes started to look more like spider legs. I felt sad for the tigers because of the way they would flinch and snarl when the whip would crack, or when a chair would be shoved at them. And the elephants' smiles seemed forced when you paid attention to their eyes instead of the positions they were sitting in for what seemed like far too long for such a large beast to endure. I wanted to rescue the tiny monkey that was play acting for loose change. I wanted to open the doors and let the circus animals out and watch them all run away.
h3athrow:
I used to go to the Shriner's Circus every year in Milwaukee with my folks when I was a kid. One year, I was tired of my chewing gum and looked around for a trash receptacle. I found what I thought was an ash tray, but it turned out to be a tub of cotton candy powder. The cotton candy makers were not happy that I'd thrown my gum in their livelihood.