My parent’s attempt at our family having fun.
In the home that I grew up in on Long Island, other than visiting relatives in “The City”—the city being one of the five boroughs of New York City—family outings were rare.
Ever since I can remember, I’ve always felt more peaceful whenever I have something to look forward to, because it is one of the few times that I get relief from living inside my anxious mind.
This particular family excursion includes the joys and horrors of the 1964 World’s Fair in Queens, New York.
My parents owned a maroon Pontiac at the time. On that long-awaited-for-day, my six-year-old self piled into the back seat of the car with my three older siblings: Jane 18, Rob 16 and Steve 13, while my mom, dad and younger brother Santis sat up front.
I was giddy beyond belief the whole drive into the “big city.”
The first horror came upon our arrival, when my dad was trying to navigate the massive parking lot. After what seemed like an eternity circling around looking for an empty space, he finally spotted someone vacating one. Pulling up close, he flipped on his blinker and while waiting to pull in, someone peeled around the corner and beat him to it.
Rage was always bubbling beneath my dad’s surface. So of course, he got of the car and challenged the guy to a fistfight, the whole time my mother was screaming from the front seat, “San! San! No San! Stop!”
Lot a good that did with the windows closed.
Because of the violence—poof! there went any relief from my anxiety. I have a pretty good memory, so I’m guessing me being frightened is why I can’t remember if the fight took place or not.
The next thing I recall is the seven of us walking up the super-long approach to the Fair. I was completely mesmerized by the sights and sounds. Huge red gondolas flew overhead. Music from “It’s a Small World” sounded from one of the attractions. The aroma of delicious-smelling food permeated the air. However, the thing I was most excited about was going to the Pavillion where you actually got to drive a real Ford car.
Well, sort of.
You held the steering wheel as it drove itself throughout the Magic Skyway and pretended you were driving the most advanced car in the world.
One of the nicer things about my mom was that her excitement about an upcoming fun day always trickled down to me getting super excited about it too. For months on end all I heard was how I would get to drive a car. I was so thrilled by the thought of it that I fell asleep at night picturing myself doing it.
Not so.
Each car held two people and my dad and I jumped into a blue one, him at the wheel. Since I wasn’t allowed to whine, I just stated the truth, “Mom said I would get to drive the car.” But nope. My dad was as excited as me about “steering” that shiny new car and he ignored me. With the fistfight still fresh in mind, I shut my mouth and just sat there in disappointment as we twisted and turned throughout the exhibit.
I don’t remember much else about the day except that I loved most every minute of it, even if there were other distressful happenings along with way.
Such as walking.
Who knows how many miles we logged that day. All I know is that my legs ached so bad yet no one would carry me or allow me to sit on a bench to rest a while. At one point, I didn’t know how I could force myself to keep up. This is where short-term memory can sometimes save you. With the fight coming to mind again, I soldiered on.
While we never stopped moving, we did get to eat our way throughout the Fair. Hot dogs with natural casing that made a popping sound when you bit into them. Cotton candy as big as my head. These tiny little colored balls sealed inside a plastic tube. And Yoo-Hoos with a straw sticking from the bottle. Things that were never allowed in our home unless there was a party going on.
Another thing to contend with was that I had to carry my own belongings.
My coat, and the souvenir I was allowed to pick out. A tiny green dinosaur-shaped bar of soap. I treasured it as if it were a diamond ring. Even better, it kept my mind off of my legs, which were about to fall off.
Before I knew it the day came to an end and we were driving back to our small town in the dark. That part was great too. I was always afraid of going to sleep in my bedroom for fear of seeing ghosts, even if my younger brother shared the room with me until I was 10 years old. So, getting to fall asleep in the car surrounded by family and no spirits? What peace!
Leaning my head on my brother Robert’s shoulder, I closed my eyes and saw constant flashes from the highway lights we passed by—and knowing my dad, likely at 90 miles an hour. The road itself was a comfort too. There were gaps in it, so we tha-thump-tha-thumped the entire way home, the cracks lulling me to sleep. Bliss like none other!
At 66, I’ve begrudgingly come to accept that life is just a series of yin and yang.
There is no wonderfulness without some horror sitting next to it. Aware of this, I would tolerate the horrors of the World’s Fair any day of the week for all the joy that thinking about it still brings me.
Here’s to you! if you also have dreadfully fond memories of your childhood to call on. Given the house of torture I grew up in, I have to dig deep to find them, but find them I do. Especially now that my parents are gone, along with my two eldest siblings. Sometimes I feel regretful about how much I judged the people I loved. For I can finally see that they were just ordinary people trying to survive the yin and yang called life. However, at the same time, I also roll my eyes at how much Funk and I coddled our children. Never would we not have carried them when they cried about needing to be picked up. Never would they not have been sitting at the wheel of that Ford car. Never would they have carried their own belongings. And likely, upon leaving the Fair, they would have been loaded down with 10 souvenirs, not just one. Looking back, the indulgence was all for naught, because I don’t think pampering them enhanced their childhood any more than me not being carried took away from mine.
The Photo: The long walkway leading up to the World’s Fair. Driving into “The City,” you can still see the Globe, as we New Yorkers call the Unisphere, and the Observation Towers. Each time I pass them, a thrill still washes over me deep in my gut.