I’d have been better off on foot
I hope all of you enjoyed the Washington County Fair last week. I haven’t been to the fair in several years. However, this year my son is in the marching band, and they performed at the fair Wednesday evening.
I planned to head over after work and figured I’d have plenty of time to get parked and get in before any of the bands began. My planned route would normally take about 20 minutes to traverse, and I had an hour. I even had visions of visiting John the Greek for a gyro salad before I had to climb the hill to the grandstand.
I’m sure you can guess what happened: I was wrong.
When I made it to within two miles of the fairgrounds, traffic began to crawl. No worries, I thought, I have nearly an hour. Time kept ticking away, and I seemed to be making no progress.
After half an eternity, I was still nine-tenths of a mile from the fairgrounds with less than a half hour to go. About that time, I saw a young man in my rear-view mirror cross the road, traveling the same direction as I was headed. Awful hot to be walking, I thought.
We moved forward a car length and stopped. Another car length and stopped. Over and over, we crawled toward the fairgrounds. Shortly thereafter, the young walker passed me. He waved and shared a laugh with the motorcyclist in front of me, both acknowledging the irony of their progress.
When I had only 15 minutes left, I began to feel a bit panicked. It is my son’s first year marching, and it was my first opportunity to see him in action. I had even turned down an invitation to go to dinner that night, so I was bound and determined to make it on time.
As I finally approached the entrance, I saw the walker enter the gate. He had walked the mile in less time than I was able to drive it. And I had yet to be able to enter the parking lot.
When that finally happened, the parking attendant told me that my parking pass meant I had to park somewhere else. I nearly had an anxiety attack as I drove down through the field to access the appropriate parking. It was 6 o’clock, and I just knew I had missed my son’s school.
I flew out of my car and headed for the gate, only to stand in line for several more minutes while tickets were checked and wristbands were handed out. When I was finally granted admittance, I sped as fast as the crowd would allow in the direction of the grandstand. I climbed the hill, found no seat available, and instead stood beside the bleachers.
I hadn’t missed him after all. I saw our school march forward, turn to face the audience, and play the number they had worked on for the past several weeks. My son, one of the youngest members – also one of the shortest – could barely be seen over the rest of the percussion section. Still, my heart swelled with pride to see him, so obviously enjoying himself, and spot-on in execution.
It was far briefer than I expected, but I gathered him up afterward and we had ice cream before heading home. It only took half as long to get out as it did to get in, but it wouldn’t have mattered. I arrived in time to see him, he was happy to see me, and all was right with the world.
Except for missing that gyro salad, of course.
Laura Zoeller can be reached at zoeller5@verizon.net.