The Circus and the Strong Man
June 13, 2006 by Veronica Mitchell
I think I was eight or nine. Young enough for the circus to still hold allure for me. We lived in a small town where my father and mother both had good jobs, but there were four kids and my mother kept us on a tight budget. We were never the poor kids in the school, but “We can’t afford it” is something I heard a lot. Once mother said that, the discussion was over.
The circus was in town. There were flyers up in the stores and on the telephone poles. My little sister and I wanted to go. We begged my father to take us. He didn’t have enough money.
I remember he sat in an old white chair in our living room, a chair that had seen better days. Four kids are rough on a white chair. He looked through his wallet. We begged some more. And then he sort of slumped. He sighed and looked unhappy, sort of beaten. And I felt terrified. I had made my daddy feel poor. Really, circumstances had made him feel poor, but I was a kid who felt guilty about everything, so I felt responsible for this too. It was the first time I remember knowing that my father could not conquer the world. There were things he could not do. I wanted to hug him and tell him it was all right, but I didn’t know how.
He did find a way to take us to the circus. I don’t remember how. But after all that pleading, it was anti-climactic. The place was dirty. We rode an elephant, but it looked unhappy. We came home. But I think I left a little innocence behind.
I’ll wait here while you write the rest of the novel and put “A Tree Grows In Brooklyn” to shame. What a delicious nugget of truth that was.
I echo antique mommy. Please write a novel, because I so enjoy your posts. I feel smarter, more enlightened after I read anything by Veronica Mitchell!
WOW. That kind of hit me right between the eyes. My folks didn’t have a lot of money either, and I remember that same look of defeat on my Dad’s face. You really took me back with that post.
Through your wonderful story telling, I can really feel your father’s anguish.
G**dam (sorry for the cursing) but that was a brilliant, gorgeous little piece of literature and I absolutely want more.
Well, everyone before me has already said it better than I could, but what an excellent post! You’re a wonderful writer Veronica.
All I can say is this one made me cry.
To move someone to tears through words is a gift.
[...] narrative stories of real events, that comeout of my brain in just the right form. My post about my father and the circus was one of those. Though, looking at it again, I need to take out the last line. It is too obvious [...]