I love the fair.
I loved the Dixie Classic Fair. I love the Carolina Classic Fair.
It had NOTHING to do with legacy nor ancestry nor ANY kind of historical perspective.
I didn’t grow up with money. My mama. My Nannie. And, me. That’s it.
My mother was a public school teacher and a church choir director. Everybody (Yes, everybody.) is aware school teachers are underpaid. That’s not a surprise. My mother received pretty much the same 12-hours-per-week-at-church salary in 2009 that she got in 1979. (These days, I see choir directors lead smaller church music programs with salaries far-exceeding $100,000 per year and I simply cannot get over it. But, that’s a diatribe for another day.) On top of everything else, Margaret was not great with money. Things were always tight.
We didn’t live in a big house. We didn’t travel Europe. We “didn’t” a lot of things.
On the other hand, we shared a ridiculous number of small adventures. Gathering seashells. Picking strawberries. Chasing ghosts.
One of our small adventures was the fair. Except, it wasn’t small to me. One of the biggest days of the year. Every October. A Saturday. We’d walk through the gates soon after they opened and we would stay all day. Really. We didn’t dare depart until after the fireworks.
We visited the cows. We wandered through Yesterville. We ate cornbread from the Hickory Ridge United Methodist Church concession stand. We looked for Uncle Larry’s student’s artwork and counted the annual haul of blue ribbons. My mother would pick up kernels of corn in the poultry building and feed the hens and roosters. We got three bags of peanuts for $5 from the “Stop Child Abuse” people. Ice cream at the oversized pavilion, where John Deere ice cream machines churned out deliciousness around the clock. The midway! We didn’t ride the rides. We watched and laughed at those screaming on the Pirate Ship and the pale-faced survivors exiting the haunted mansion. We played games. Boy, we played games. $.50 in the early days, eventually $1 per play and, finally, $2 a pop. That was the moment my mother said, “I believe your game-playing days are coming to an end.” Bingo. We always played Bingo, with pinto beans for markers. And, of course, the annex. That was my favorite. The exhibitors. The samples. The free stuff. The annex was the BEST.
Even when my mother could no longer walk, she scheduled a Saturday morning ride with Trans-Aid and Sophia and Miles would take turns sitting on her lap as she navigated her scooter around the fairgrounds, teaching another generation about our “Do Not Miss” fair moments.
The tradition continues. Vikki and I have gone every year.
We don’t do the games anymore. It’s $5 a play. Five dollars! $10 for two people to play the same game. Our family can’t afford that. Really.
Sophia and Miles are riders! We walk the midway innumerable times. The all-you-can-ride wristbands are a lifesaver. If you buy tickets one-by-one, (Tickets are $.50 each.) each ride costs $3-$6 per person. The only way any normal family can afford to do it is to get the wristbands. Fine. That’s what we do. For years, our bouncing baby boy and girl have each ridden at least 25 rides as Vikki and I circle the midway, time after time after time. They love it. We love watching them.
Last Saturday… Griffin Day at the Carolina Classic Fair.
Much to our surprise, all-you-can-ride wristbands cannot be purchased after 12:00 Noon. Seriously? (We don’t go as early in the day as Margaret and Jeffrey went, but, still.)
And.
And.
AND…
The Saturday all-you-can-ride wristbands are valid until 2:00 PM.
Excuse me? Say what? It was after twelve and we couldn’t get them, anyway. But, even if we did, the wristbands are no good after two o’clock? I’m sorry, what is the point?
Not to be deterred, Vikki bought tickets. Sophia and Miles, for the first time ever, were left to count tickets and choose which rides to ride. The Ring Of Fire or the Himalaya? The Ferris Wheel or the Zipper?
My heart sank.
56 years and the journey has come to an end.
$10 to walk through the gate, plus a $3 convenience fee. (Convenient for whom?) $30 for a 2-hour all-you-can-ride-wristband. $5 midway games. $40 parking. (That was primarily due to the Wake Forest vs. Stanford football game. Free shuttles are available and there are cheaper options across the street. But… $40? Football parking shouldn’t cost $40 and I don’t care who is playing.)
It’s business. Folks have to make money. I understand it and I respect it. Life is not cheap. Adventures are rarely free.
I guess, I could stomach all of it. Except… $30 for an all-you-can-ride wristband that is distinctly NOT all-you-can-ride.
When organizers and promoters have to fight to sell every ticket and justify every expense and do everything possible to offset less-than-capacity numbers… why price gouge families doing their damndest to create memories for their children?
It may be nothing more than an accounting adjustment. A product of the numbers. The bottom line.
To me, it feels personal. Deeply. Profoundly. Hurtful. Intentional or not, it’s a stab to my soul and not something I’ll let go anytime soon.
Whatever the reasoning behind the decision, the “no more all-you-can ride after 2 PM” mentality has done little more than bring about an end to a family tradition. I hope it was worth it.
