Let it be known that my father loves him some Iowa State Fair. He’s been a regular there ever since he was a wee one. I think he once told me his first visit was way back in 1932. Now, if you ask him about any of his previous Fair experiences, be ready to settle in for a spell. My dad will regale you with stories galore. He’s like a 90-year old version of books on tape.
In the last couple years, however, Dad has slowed down to a near glacial pace, so seeing the Fair in earnest has become cumbersome. Cue my friend Heather who has graciously offered to squire my father around the fairgrounds in a golf cart for the last several years. Dad has become so accustom to this luxury that he’ll now have a list in his head of the places he’d like to see. (And by places he’d like to see, I mean, food vendors he’d like to solicit).
We were nary in the park thirty seconds before he announced he’d like a cinnamon roll, , but I want the one with pecans … you know, a sticky bun.” Since everything is supersized at the Fair, I wisely split one with him. 1) Because he’s diabetic, 2) because I don’t want to border on diabetes and 3) the cinnamon roll was the size of his head.
Apparently, pecans and caramel and dough can singlehandedly help my father reach some sweet level of Nirvana. When I offered him a sip of my Chai tea, he willingly tried it. And then quickly shot me a look that said … never offer me this craptastic drink again.
Do keep in mind I’m hyper protective of my dad … always looking after him and being mindful of his occasional limitations. My friend Heather, meanwhile, dotes on him endlessly. Over the years she’s become the Bobby Shuttle Service. “Your father is like a Faberge’ egg,” Heather told me. “I feel the need to protect him and ensure he’s still having fun.” (He’d never admit it, but I think he eats it up, along with whatever fried item is put in front of him.)
In our travels yesterday, we swung by the Fox News hangout where Dad got to meet stalwart political reporter Carl Cameron. His head then proceeded to explode. (Uh, my Dad’s, not Carl’s.) See, Dad is a Fox News junkie. He DVRs each show and watches them several times just to make sure he’s not missing anything. I swear if Bill O’Reilly said the sky was green, my dad would believe it without going outside to check on status quo. He had a lovely chat with Carl about politics, the state of political affairs in the U.S. and, of course, Sean Hannity. (And then MY head exploded.)
It was fun to watch Dad wolf down his obligatory corn dog and wash it down with Hoppy’s homemade, legendary State Fair lemonade. He dutifully traipsed around the Ag Building to see the Butter Cow. And he gently moseyed around the cattle barn. At some point along the way, we took a couple selfies — which may be his first, but he can’t be sure. By the end of the second hour, he was good to go. I know this because he mentioned, “I’m good to go.”
He came. He saw. He wolfed down 3,000 calories. All in all, I’d say another successful fair-going experience for me and dad … uh, and Heather’s Bobby Shuttle Service.