Ardo Zubairu
08-02-2007, 02:47 PM
A recent outing to Abuja wonderland Amusement Park turned out to be more than just fun and games for my nephews and me; I loved the children Day funfair when I was little. Those innocent days, the cotton candy stuck to my fingers, the elephant ears, the unshaven guard offering me a ride for a Naira. The music tinkling from the merry-go-round.
But I had my sights set. No lemon shake-up or hide and seek play could detour me from my 7-year-old goal - the Hut of Funfair. It's the inflated screened-in pillow where kids jump themselves silly. And I loved it. I saw it in the distance, and dragged my parents by the hand to my ultimate destination. I could see it gyrating with all the other jumping kids inside, giggles punctuating each move. I ran over, and with a slight nod from mom, ripped off my socks and shoes and entered the Hut.
Now at first it's a little hard to get the groove. The trampoline floor is bouncing up and down, so my rhythm's off. The other kids all seem to have a partner, and I feel self-conscious. but soon I'm jumping, tumbling and shrieking with the rest of them. I can feel my cheeks burn as I collide with the padded wall and fall down, only to be shot up in the air again. Too quickly my time is up and I depart, out of breath and dizzy for a caramel apple.
I did this for years, but I remember the children day funfair I became too tall for the Hut of Fun. I was ready to jump in when the Guard stopped me, his cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He made me stand next to the red stick.
I tried to smooch myself below that four foot line, but the verdict was in: too tall for the Hut. I was destroyed. I could hear the other kids laugh in bouncy bliss inside. Looking in the flimsy door, I could see their little arms and legs flail around through the mesh screen. But not for me. Well, I moved on to bigger and better rides at the fair in the years to come. The Super Loop, the Scrambler, the Hurricane, but I always held a soft spot for the Hut.
A bit of irony came my way recently when I took my nephews to wonderland Amusement Park. They were 3-years-old and 5-years-old at the time, prime ages for the Hut of Fun. And their little eyes lit up when they saw it. All the other children their age were scurrying there too, magnetized to the game. They ran over, little toes bare in a flurry of rainbow tennis shoes and tube socks. I was running to keep up
As they ducked in, I found myself part of a new crowd-on shoe patrol, making sure no one else's 5-year-old confused his shoes with ours. I exchanged knowing smiles with the other guardians circled around the door. I peeked in the mesh balloon, tinted red inside from the glowing sun.
I felt old, and then I realized something - I was. Long gone were my times for the Hut of Fun, but seeing their breathless grins and sweaty foreheads made it OK that my kid days were gone. It's funny, but that Hut is a lot like life.
When you first get going, it's hard to catch the rhythm. You don't know the others in there, and you're not sure how they'll react to you. Sometimes you bounce into them, sometimes they bounce into you. Once in a while, they land on your foot-it hurts, but you forgive them because you know they didn't mean to. Then, just as you get the hang of it and your heart is racing, your time is up and you move on to bigger and better rides.
But I had my sights set. No lemon shake-up or hide and seek play could detour me from my 7-year-old goal - the Hut of Funfair. It's the inflated screened-in pillow where kids jump themselves silly. And I loved it. I saw it in the distance, and dragged my parents by the hand to my ultimate destination. I could see it gyrating with all the other jumping kids inside, giggles punctuating each move. I ran over, and with a slight nod from mom, ripped off my socks and shoes and entered the Hut.
Now at first it's a little hard to get the groove. The trampoline floor is bouncing up and down, so my rhythm's off. The other kids all seem to have a partner, and I feel self-conscious. but soon I'm jumping, tumbling and shrieking with the rest of them. I can feel my cheeks burn as I collide with the padded wall and fall down, only to be shot up in the air again. Too quickly my time is up and I depart, out of breath and dizzy for a caramel apple.
I did this for years, but I remember the children day funfair I became too tall for the Hut of Fun. I was ready to jump in when the Guard stopped me, his cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He made me stand next to the red stick.
I tried to smooch myself below that four foot line, but the verdict was in: too tall for the Hut. I was destroyed. I could hear the other kids laugh in bouncy bliss inside. Looking in the flimsy door, I could see their little arms and legs flail around through the mesh screen. But not for me. Well, I moved on to bigger and better rides at the fair in the years to come. The Super Loop, the Scrambler, the Hurricane, but I always held a soft spot for the Hut.
A bit of irony came my way recently when I took my nephews to wonderland Amusement Park. They were 3-years-old and 5-years-old at the time, prime ages for the Hut of Fun. And their little eyes lit up when they saw it. All the other children their age were scurrying there too, magnetized to the game. They ran over, little toes bare in a flurry of rainbow tennis shoes and tube socks. I was running to keep up
As they ducked in, I found myself part of a new crowd-on shoe patrol, making sure no one else's 5-year-old confused his shoes with ours. I exchanged knowing smiles with the other guardians circled around the door. I peeked in the mesh balloon, tinted red inside from the glowing sun.
I felt old, and then I realized something - I was. Long gone were my times for the Hut of Fun, but seeing their breathless grins and sweaty foreheads made it OK that my kid days were gone. It's funny, but that Hut is a lot like life.
When you first get going, it's hard to catch the rhythm. You don't know the others in there, and you're not sure how they'll react to you. Sometimes you bounce into them, sometimes they bounce into you. Once in a while, they land on your foot-it hurts, but you forgive them because you know they didn't mean to. Then, just as you get the hang of it and your heart is racing, your time is up and you move on to bigger and better rides.