8.9

I remember when I loved this hat. I tried to wear it as often as I possibly could. Especially during the summer, which was also its downfall. I wore it with a new skirt I had bought, during the weekend of Island Fest. I walked in the parade, then headed down to the airport for all the other festivities.

I was probably in high school by then, between freshman and sophomore years. That’s the age where its embarrassing to be seen with your parents, but I unfortunately stumbled upon my mother. It was probably late at night, when everyone was leaving. Pat Daily had just finished performing and being the social guy he thinks he is, wandered into the scattered crowds.

No one really seemed to notice him. But oh boy, did my mom make a bee line straight to him. And she had to drag me with her. She didn’t have to beg long for an autograph, but then she made me give him something to scribble in permanent marker on. Of course, I didn’t have anything with me. So, off came the hat, and I never wore it again. I haven’t been able to part with it, but I certainly haven’t felt a desire to wear it.

6.6

I remember when the Island Fest carnival rides sat here every year. There were only a few rides, and mostly food vendors. We didn’t even use the airport way back when. I was extremely young then, and young still the first year the rides were set up across the street from the airport. After that, everything else gradually migrated. Except for the parade. That stays on the main drag, where all the local businesses are.

I don’t recall ever actually riding the rides while they were here. Maybe once. I do remember drinking frozen lemonade though. I hate lemonade, but that’s all my mom would buy. Who cares what her kid wants. Some water would have been nice.

I do remember walking around in one of my dance recital costumes. One from a previous year, because we couldn’t risk destroying the ones we had to perform in just two weeks later. Apparently a change of clothes was out of the question. But hey, at least I was an adorable baby angel child!

6.4

I remember almost being afraid of this ride. It most likely stemmed from one of my petty phobias. This thing is basically a metal shell with a door controlled by someone who probably imagines the gory death of every rider as they sit in the center watching us scream with enjoyment. And it always seemed to take forever. We were locked inside that damn thing for far too long.

The walls of it are slanted so that we could lean against it and slide up as we picked up speed. Some kids thought they were cool enough to do flips and roll around, but they usually were yelled at by the angry carnie. Basically it turned into laying there for minutes that felt like hours, not being able to lift even a finger.

It wasn’t until the end that I would get sick; when it started slowing down and I had to stand back up. I’d play it cool, because no one wants to puke up elephant ears. But I’d immediately veer off to find some shady grass and flop down. I’m glad I have no reason to ride these rides. They cost too much and probably have some sort of long-term health consequence.

6.3

I remember being excited every year when I saw the rides sitting at the airport the week before Island Fest. But I’d always be relieved to see them packed up and ready to leave the day after it finally ended. I lived right around the corner, and this thing gets noisy. Not to mention all the carnies camp out right next to it all. We had some issues with vandalism, but it’s hard to prove which one of their group took part.

The noise didn’t bother me all that much. I was usually there enjoying it. In my childhood, I would spend all my time in the carnival area, but by middle school, that had lost its luster. I’d walk around with friends and pretend to cause trouble. High school just turned into a fake longing to avoid the hype, even though we’d hang out across the street and drink the alcohol we stealthily stole from our parents.

It was usually only Saturday night that would bother me. The noise from the beer tent would travel across the airport to our backyard. We’re an Island of party fanatics. Drunk party fanatics. It’s fun now that I don’t have to sneak my drinking, and I understand how much the adults don’t care about their noise levels. I’m sure they all suffered as children once, too. Or they’re trying to get back at their parents, who generally head to bed by sunset.

6.2

I remember this being my favorite ride at Island Fest for a while. Back when I could handle these crappy rides. I used to love the swings, but I think it became slightly boring. The Scrambler is easier to squash people. The swings were just dangerous as we swung in the air trying to kick one another.

My friends usually didn’t appreciate my sense of fun at the carnival. Apparently, demonstrating centrifugal force on humans is not amusing. At least my family enjoys and shares my humor. We’d always battle for the inside seat to obtain the maximum amount of squash ability. I’d usually win; mainly because I’m the oldest. However, we haven’t tried it recently. My brother would probably take over that role. But only because he’s the tallest.

This ride does do funny things to my head. I don’t get nauseated, but I step off and walk in circles for a few minutes. It’d be fun to squash one of my siblings on this again, but I haven’t had the extra cash to watch float away for tickets. Maybe next year.

5.31

I remember performing here during Island Fest. It was years ago, though. The Academy has since stopped participating in everything, with the exception of the parade. But we used to perform a few of our recital pieces here in the hangar for anyone who wanted to watch. It was mainly parents, as most of us were rather young and mischievous when left alone. It was nice to have a crowd. It was nice to pretend that people cared about the actual dance, rather than gloating about their precious baby angel child.

We used the same floors no matter where we went. They were a certain material, perfect for dance. They’d be rolled up and stored for most of the year, but when it came time for performances, there would be a crew of volunteers to set up our stage. I miss those floors. My body became conditioned to recognize their feel. I would know it was safe to move; to let it all out. I haven’t felt those floors in years. And its almost like everything is building up. Every now and then I find myself busting out a few moves at home, but quickly stopping because my feet get stuck.

I don’t really know why we stopped performing here every year. Maybe we had to pay? That sounds unreasonable, however. I don’t know. I just miss it all.