The smell of funnel cakes makes me want to vomit. Despite this enduring trait, I volunteered for the elementary school carnival. By the time my shift rolled around, there wasn't much business. At 5pm on a Saturday there were a few hundred cotton candy laced children, hordes of dazed and somewhat pained looking adults, and my favorite social group to observe, the roving gangs of teenagers. I love how they lean on things, all sharp elbows and skinny black jeans, as if the weight of their own import is simply too much bear upright. I took pictures of them up close like Nat'l Geographic. And they didn't even notice. I used to be unaffected and cool like that...twenty plus years ago. Dude? I saw the band on your new 'vintage' t-shirt live when they still toured in a bondo colored VW van.
Okay, so this child? Unfortunately, he's not mine. But for about fifteen delightful minutes, he entertained me. He was attempting the paddle ball for the first time and the pure joy on his face reminded me the new shouldn't be feared, the old shouldn't be forgotten, and the in-between should be lived to the fullest, until the import of your own happiness is simply too much to bear upright.