Life is a game, but it isn’t fair

Charles W. Johnson

As this year’s fair rolls into town it brings back memories of my youth, which, for some strange reason, seems to be slowly moving further into the past every year. And as it recedes into antiquity, it’s a funny thing how much better that period in my life looks to me now, in spite of how horrible I thought it was at the time. It’s also worrying to me how I am able to remember vividly things that happened to me when I was 12, but recalling where I left my keys last night is a major chore.

Anyhow, I learned a great lesson from my dad when I was in seventh grade. I had managed to talk the prettiest girl in class into going to the first day of the fair with me. Naturally, I wanted to impress her. Now, my dad wasn’t tight exactly, but he was, shall we say, careful with money. This was a trait he diligently tried to pass along to me, but it was also one I was decidedly uninterested in learning at the time.

But that didn’t stop him from trying. My dad found out early on that, like most kids, when I had money, I tended to spend it. All of it. As a result, and in an effort to teach me the importance of budgeting, he would limit me to two dollars a day to spend at the fair when it came around every year. Once I spent that two dollars, that was it. I didn’t get any more, no matter how much I begged. I’m sure it was gratifying to him how much longer that two dollars lasted as the fair went along.

The first day it generally was gone in under an hour. The second day it might be three hours before I was tugging at his sleeve. But oddly enough, by Saturday I could manage to go all night on two bucks, which must have been encouraging to him, as it at least appeared I was actually learning to budget my cash.

Sad to say, though I never told him, it really only showed how skillful I was getting at sneaking money from my mom and bumming from my buddies and other relatives.

But back to the prettiest girl in class. I was so bent on showing her a good time at the fair, I was willing to risk all, so to speak. It was with this in mind that I puffed out my 12-year-old chest and approached my father for my fair money. I had a plan. I assured him that my experience from years past had taught me the importance of being conservative, of not spending all my money in one night. So just once, I pleaded, would he consider giving my entire week’s fair money the first day, just so I could prove to him what I had learned about budgeting my funds.
My father looked me in the eye and, to my utter amazement, agreed, but made it clear I would not get another cent.

And that’s how, on the first day of the fair, I found myself in possession of 10 whole dollars. Oh what a day I was going to have.

Little did I know.

To make a short story shorter, the first thing my young lady said to me as we walked onto the midway was, “Hey, I want a teddy bear.

Could you win me one please?”

What followed was around an hour or so of tossing rings, throwing balls and shooting guns. None of which resulted in a teddy bear, but which thoroughly depleted what I thought would be an endless supply of funds.

And, not surprisingly I was to learn, once the money was gone, so was the girl. Bummer.

But to his credit, my dad was good on his word. I didn’t get another cent.

Now, I learned two good lessons from this.

First, I learned that all carnival games are rigged, and I also learned not to put all my eggs in one basket, because, as has been the case throughout history, all it takes is one pretty girl to turn most guys into a basket case, and an empty basket at that.

Charlie Johnson is news editor of the Standard. He can be reached at 473-2191 or by e-mail at newseditor@southernstandard.com.