I grew up in California (which is why I’m a physical coward). Because I’m basically the living manifestation of a dare my mother made to see if my Dad would stay around, I was always seen as kind of a burden. So, when I was a little kid, my parents used to drop me off at the San Francisco Zoo, and that distracted me from the vague explanations of their six hour disappearances (I’ve never had the resolve to find out what a “swingers party” is). They’d give me a few crumpled up dollars and I’d go buy some cotton candy or a hot dog and I’d walk through the fog to the carousel, the park’s centerpiece. I never had the courage to ride it by myself, so I’d just sit there and watch. Then one day, a glorious thing happened. This little creature, this little creature without a single pronounced gender-identifying characteristic, small and fat with a lopsided bowl cut, was on the carousel, going around and around… and sobbing hysterically, tears spraying from its eyes. And I sat there for the entire song, eating my cotton candy and watching this sexless little monster, and as hard as it cried, I laughed. I sat there and laughed and could not stop laughing until it was all over. But me and that kid shared something, more than just the warning signs of adult-onset diabetes and obesity… because I was alone in the world as it was. And we had that.
Whenever I see a carousel I think of that moment and laugh. Which is why I want this book for Christmas. Happy Holidays.
