“…The
memories of who I was and where I lived are important to me. They
make up a large part of who
I’m going to be when my journey winds down. I need the memory
of magic if I am ever going to conjure magic again. I need to know
and remember, and I want to tell you.” Robert
R. McCammon
Going
with Grammy to the nearby plaza and riding on the carousel was such a
special occasion. I remember walking hand-in-hand with her; and when
the carousel came into view, I squealed; let go of her hand; and
rushed toward the carousel and my favorite mechanical horse, Daisy—a
prancing white, wooden horse with an English style saddle sitting
atop a purple, lavender, and green blanket decorated with gold bells
along the bottom. I handed the quarter Grammy had given me to the
operator, a kind, elderly gentleman whom I nicknamed Mr. Peppermint
because of his gray pants, white shirt, red and white striped jacket,
and a red bow tie.
“Here’s
my fare, Mr. Peppermint. I want to ride Daisy, please.” He
took my quarter; opened the gate; and escorted me to Daisy, hoisting
me up on her saddle.
“Hold
onto the pole real tight,” he said.
He
waved his red and white striped cane making the carousel start, and I
marveled at the man who magically made the carousel go round ‘n
round. Slowly it turned, then gently faster; and Daisy strutted up
and down. There was something almost intoxicating about feeling the
gentle breeze tousling my hair; watching the bobbing animals; and
listening to the sound of the whistling carousel music.
“Reach
for the brass ring!” Mr. Peppermint yelled as Daisy and I
passed under the wooden arm suspended above the riders that released
small grabbable rings. Most rings were iron, but one or two were
made of brass, redeemable for a repeat carousel ride. I was never
able to actually grab an iron ring, let alone a brass one. I simply
didn’t have the necessary dexterity and timing. Nonetheless, I
yearned for a brass ring and never gave up trying to grab one.
I
spent untold days riding the carousel chalking up countless memories.
In fact, my entire childhood was filled with a carousel of wonderful
memories: running barefoot through sprinklers; spotting a dropped
dime on the sidewalk; constructing a paper airplane that hovered
above the sidewalk like a seagull; and hearing the ice cream truck
turning into the neighborhood, its carnival-like music announcing its
arrival.
Oh, how I wish I
could circle back to those simple, effortless days—days that
seemed to go on forever. But life, like a carousel, is constantly in
motion making it impossible to return to those days. Instead, I
close my eyes imagining myself a child once again reliving many of my
special, memory-filled days. I feel Grammy’s love as she wraps
her hand around mine. I’m filled with joy listening to the
carousel music and hearing her sweet laughter. I feel Mr.
Peppermint’s kindness as he carefully lifts me onto Daisy’s
beautiful saddle. I see Daisy’s beautiful saddle and feel the
magic of the carousel’s gentle circular motion. Ride, ride
the carousel. I whisper. Reach for the brass ring,
never to
finish but to begin again. Life is a circular thing.
