Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Can I Have An Emu?
However, my father loved me to the degree that he would forego an afternoon of fishing to take me to the fair. He loved my mother to the extent he’d not insist that she come.
It was the summer of my 10th year. My brother was off to college in New England and my parents and I took a quick side trip to Willoughby Lake, Vermont where we had a cottage.
Upon arrival, my mother did what she longed to do every minute during the year back home in New Jersey; kick back, sit on the porch, look at the lake, the mountains and the loons cavort, fish and call each other in their beautiful mournful voices.
My father and I went into the town nearby for provisions for our 5 day stay. While in the C&C Market, we saw the announcement on the bulletin board that the Orleans County Fair was open the week we were going to be at the lake. I had always loved going to the fair.
Demolition derby, cheesy hastily assembled amusement rides, pigs, cotton candy, horses — what’s a kid not to like?
If my mother loved to sit out on the porch, multiply that by 10 and that’s how much my father liked to fish.
However, my father loved me to the degree that he would forego an afternoon of fishing to take me to the fair. He loved my mother to the extent he’d not insist that she come.
The fair was all I remembered it to be when my dad and I pulled the car into the field that doubled that one week in the summer as a parking lot.
Disembarking, my senses enjoyed the flood of familiar sights and stinks of prior years .
There was one exciting new feature. A man in a fancy colored booth selling emus. And he had a sample of a live, full grown emu in a large cage behind the counter of his booth. While he was extolling the never ending benefits of emu ownership, I was gazing at the live emu. At 10 years old I was falling in love for the first time. I just didn’t realize it.
Daddy!Daddy! Can I have an emu?
The salesman farmer knew he had a live one: an 10 year old boy appealing to a loving father. The clever farmer knew how to forestall differed gratification. Instead speaking of the aggressiveness, and extremely high cost of maintenance of a full grown emu, he stressed the their large green eggs — so huge one of which can make an omelet the size of 12 chicken eggs. He went on to mention how affectionate, gentle and loving they are as pets. The farmer knew how to appeal to a young suburban kid.
Daddy, please?
“Brian, remember Smokey (our beloved 17 year old cat)? We have to take him into consideration. He goes after birds.” my father said gently. My dad must have been trying to appeal to my preteen seedling sense of reason. “Maybe we can get a smaller bird when we get home. Keep him in a cage where Smokey can’t get him.” he reasoned.
Got the point, but my dad didn’t make it; the emu WAS over 6' tall. He had claws the size of knitting needles and, although oddly muscled, he looked stronger than my gym teacher.
The emu might hurt Smokey, not the other way around. And our yard didn’t seem big enough for a huge bird like the emu. A full grown emu certainly couldn’t live with Smokey and the rest of us in the house. Even the farmer told us that.
Reluctance and relief prevailed: reluctance to be guided back to the fairway’s other attractions by me and relief that I would allow myself to be distracted by the other attractions by my father. My dad handled the whole affair with tenderness and sensitivity but parental firmness.
I took my kids to the Orleans County Fair a couple of years ago. Still the same delight for kids. My enjoyment of the attractions had transferred from the demolition derby, rides on the Wild Mouse, stuffing my mouth with cotton candy and greasy fries to the more mature attractions: the largest pumpkin, the best blueberry pie, funnel cakes; the things that you learn to appreciate after you’ve experienced a few years of being a dad yourself.
There was no farmer pushing emus to the families who were meandering all over the fairgrounds. I heard that the fair committee received complaints from oversold, disillusioned emu owners that got involved with the fast talking guy in bib overalls. I vividly remember that day many years ago when my father stood strong in appealing to whatever rational my 10 year old mind could muster to discourage me from needing an emu for a pet.
Retrospectively, I should be thankful I was talked out of a possible family altering decision of taking responsibility of living with an emu.
That potential calamity would be something like a man who meets a women who he views as independent, gentle, athletic, fairly intelligent, rather odd looking but she’s very attractive to the man— -if only by her uniqueness. Although the couple doesn’t know each other well, the man asks the women to move in with him. She accepts.
He then finds out that she’s from Mars; she’s a Martian!
His best friend takes him out for a drink and explains the disastrous impracticality of the relationship. The man takes his advice and fades off into the sunset alone but better off from the advice. He thanks his friend later.
Thanks, dad!
Sad how those ubiquitous Liberty Mutual ads bring back such sweet memories of what could have been.