Big Top: (n) the main tent in a circus.
The circus smells like elephant poop.
That’s my main memory from the only time I went there at twelve years of age.
I had this strange sensation of smelling pachyderm droppings while simultaneously eating cotton candy. It was a disturbing mixture.
I was a chubby fellow, so when the clowns came out to perform, one of the jokesters targeted me, using mime to imitate my tubbiness, to the delight of children nearby. Obviously lacking some training in sensitivity, the bozo continued to do so until the laughter subsided.
So to a certain degree, I was very happy when the elephants arrived and I was no longer the largest in the tent.
The circus was impressive.
There were things flying in the air, fire spewing from the mouths of entertainers, and all sorts of horses running in circles with brightly-colored saddles, which were ever-so-faintly fading through years of use.
I worked really hard to be a fan.
I oohed and aahed on cue, making it clear to all my friends around me that I was an appreciator.
But as I left the tent, even though I was just a kid, I sensed that these professionals were working awfully hard to make life fun. Matter of fact, when I hear people draw the parallel that “life is a circus,” I think to myself, no, it’s not.
Actually, our goal is to make sure that life doesn’t become a funeral … by adding just enough clowns, dancing monkeys and corn dogs.