Memorial Day Memories are Made

When you live in a suburb of a small city in upstate New York, you anxiously await this time of the year. Some may refer to it as summer, but around here, we refer to it as festival season. There is Greek Fest, the Balloon Fest, the Polish Fest, the Middle Eastern Fest, A Taste of Syracuse, Jazz Fest, Oz-stravaganza (Oz Fest), Canal Days, Scottish Games, etc. all to be culminated by the end of the season New York State Fair that ends on Labor Day. Well actually, no. The fall has its own blend of events and festivals so I guess the State Fair isn't the end of it. But you get the idea. We basically live for the season we can actually exit our houses without having to take 15 minutes to dress in layers that make us appear like we live in the Antarctic. Since we don't have the plethora of art galleries, museums, restaurants, and clubs of most major cities, we commune at these various festivals. Did I happen mention Steve hates crowds? To the point of shutting down. He cannot even handle family events always - when we host, he will often take off at some point for a short walk, or recluse himself to the kitchen and clean up. People often take offense to him being like this, but I know now that it isn't anything personal, he is truly overwhelmed in these situations. The great philosopher, Sophia, once said: "It's important to love someone different than you." Well, I do.

Camillus is known for many things, like Camillus Cutlery (now defunct), one of the few Octagon houses remaining in New York, high school lacrosse and the marching band, and the existence of many people who still wear mullets and recount glory days of high school. OK. So we aren't the most of sophisticated of towns, but there is the one event of the year that seems to stand out around here, and it is Memorial Day. People take this seriously, decorating gravesides, cleaning up the yards , ensuring the America flag is flying over, and the Memorial Day events including a 5k race, a parade, a convocation.

I had noticed on one of my many trips to the library that they were setting up a carnival in the village as part of the festivities. I mentioned it to Steve, and asked him if we could take the kids. I had to ask him, mind you: 1) out of respect as a co-parent of our beautiful children, 2) knowing his sensory crowd issues and 3) because there aint no way I am going on any rides (especially that spin you around) unless you want to add another Festival to the list, namely Puke-a-Thon.

Well Steve lucked out because the crowds were at bay. First ride encountered: the Fun House. Calling this a ride is sort of a misnomer, of course. It does not spin or move or gyrate. I did not intend to have Zach go on this - because I did not feel it would be appealing to him. So off Sophia went, but then Zach gestured again and again that he wanted to go. OK. So, there was no one around, what the heck. He entered and proceeded, and then as he came upon the the first crook in the maze and looked confounded about the purpose of the ride, the crowds appeared. So we can't explain to him the expectations of this, we can not direct him what to do, and he lacks the imitation skills of other kids. Oh crap. What was I thinking? I see the look in Steve's eye, and he wants to know what I was thinking too. So now Steve and I are staring and sweating as we watch our 3.5 year old autistic son in a ride that's purpose is to confound and confuse and there are witnesses to the event. Worse parent award is coming my way. A little girl around 8 enters. Her parents note the looks on our faces (mine of confusion on how to handle this, Steve's of wanting to divorce me for my stupidity in letting his only son, with special needs to boot, enter the damned thing in the first place.) I decided that yelling directions and gesturing which way to go would be helpful despite the expert's opinions that he has no receptive language. Than I noticed him watch the little girl, whose parents told her to slow down and show Zach what to do (not realizing the experts have told me he doesn't have much in the way of imitation skills) and he did it. Between this little girl and her altruistic efforts, my gestures and overzealous verbal prompts, and the fact that the kid has some serious power going on between those two ears, he made it through, climbing ladders, twists and turns, and here and there slides. I was so proud that he did it - on his own. I was relieved that I didn't have to send his sister in to fetch him. Steve was relieved that he didn't have to go in and fetch him. And I was relieved that a marriage hurdle was cleared. He liked the fun house so much, he would end up going on it several times, having mastered what to do by the third time in.

He liked the other rides too, and figured out the process of what to do quickly. It starts off with Mommy and Daddy walking you up to an entrance, verifying height requirements by making you stand next to some stick, then handing the homeless looking man with no front teeth which is a convenient place to stick the Marlboro a few tickets and releasing you into said homeless looking man's custody where you climb aboard and are strapped in. You enjoy the ride and when it stops, this same man, cigarette fully employed, once again comes to you, and you let him release you from your captivity, and look to exit where parents are now standing with grateful smiles. Voila.




Mom and Dad got to run together, kids got to see the parade, rides, had the family over for picnic. OK - so Steve had to go into work on Memorial Day,other than that, it was a nice weekend that we were able to enjoy together. A special thanks to Babcia Morphet for all her help in going on rides that spin spin spin and make me nauseous.