15 hours at the fair; a father’s story

So I did the Alaska State Fair thing. After skipping out last year, I decided I’d give it another shot.

Besides, Portia (daughter) had a field trip to the fair that happened to coincide with a day off and I could hardly say no when she asked daddy to be a chaperone. So it was up and at ’em early Friday morning and off to the fair with Butte Elementary. No matter how much they pay school-bus drivers, it’s not enough. I don’t think 747s generate decibel levels that high.

We arrived at the fair a little after 10 a.m. and started the field trip by listening to an Alaska Native storyteller. Afterward, we went to the exhibit and demonstration for the animals from Australia, which were very cool and definitely my favorite part of the fair this year.

Afterward, we pulled our other kids out of school and went back into the fair, which was the first time I really experienced going to the fair with teenagers. I don’t think we’d made it 20 steps into the gate and the two junior high boys we had with us hit Glenny and I up with, “Dad, would it be OK if I met my friends (wherever)?” As a grumpy old man, I’ve never been fond of roaming groups of teenagers. But my older boys are at that age when it’s far more fun to hang with friends than boring old mom and dad. So, after doling out some cash and reminding them that I agreed to get them cellphones so I could reach them (not so they could text their pals), I watched them run off. After years of traveling as the eight of us, Glenny and I are still getting used to traveling with just our two youngest children. We walked around, saw a lot of the same and a little of the new. Benjy (youngest son) and Portia made a beeline straight for the National Guard Humvee with the .50-cal mounted on the roof. Did the trooper ID thing (tradition). Wife and I played our people-watching game called Valley, Anchorage or Out-of-State? Valley and Anchorage people are easiest to spot. Sometimes the out-of-staters can look an awful lot like Anchorage folks, though.

The kids got all the free stuff at the various booths (Kudos to MTA and BP for their amazing handouts). After a bit of walking, it was time to fill out a loan application for some food. Paying top-dollar for food-court cuisine is not my favorite part of the fair experience.

We occasionally ran into one of the older boys. Both of them had shelled out $10 for a toy worth $3. But hey, they were happy. We ran by the elephant ear booth where our oldest son, AJ, is working. Feel free to give him a hard time if you stop by.

One of the highlights this year was Benjy being tall enough to ride the rides. Portia rode last year and had Benjy all pumped up for the excitement. Bear in mind that my daughter was born without whatever part of your brain generates fear. I did my best to warn Benjy, but he just blew me off as he waited in line for that awful Squirrel Cage ride where you’re placed in a basket and thrown around in the air for a while. I’m surprised each basket doesn’t come with a courtesy bucket.

Anyway, as it began spinning, the look on my son’s face was sheer terror (as his sister was cheering and grinning next to him). But I guess Benjy didn’t learn, because this scene was repeated almost immediately.

The next ride was one where people sit on something that resembles theater seating and then are vertically spun around in circles, which gave me a much better view of Benjy’s horror. After the rides they played a few of the games where $5 in tickets gets you a $1 toy (they opted for the sugar-filled pixie sticks). I pride myself on trying to watch my kids’ sugar intake, but I relax a bit at the fair and Halloween, so Benjy and Portia loaded up. I should have had them push the van home to burn off some of the energy.

A few more rounds of the fair, a trip to the petting zoo (also a tradition ever since we took them to what we dubbed the angry-animal petting zoo back in 2003) and a quick lap through Raven Hall wrapped up our day. I have to note; I normally don’t really get into the stuff for sale part of the fair, but there was truly some cool stuff in there this year. Two of the Pirates for Hire were sitting at the foot massage booth and have to be some of the coolest guys I have met at the fair. Those salesman should give them a cut for the job they were doing convincing people to sit down and relax their feet. At a different booth, Glenny picked up a couple of those massaging pillows for road trips just before they lit off the fireworks and things started shutting down.

After taking Glenny and the kids out to the van (some of you need to calm down and accept the fact that it’s going to take awhile to get out), I went back into the fair to gather up the older boys. This is where my story gets a bit sad. Not once, but twice, I came across men who were engaged in rather physical disagreements with their significant others.

I convinced the first young man that his night was about to get unpleasant if he didn’t let go, back up and calm down. The second man, an older and obviously very intoxicated fellow, decided to grab a light-saber from a child who happened to be walking by and broke it on the ground in anger.

This attracted quite a bit of attention from bystanders — especially the child’s father — and I’m fairly certain his night did become quite unpleasant. I’ve always had respect for the security at the fair. I think they do a good job, but I’m starting to think that maybe some police presence might be a good idea — at least at closing time on the grounds and the parking lot.

And so when our 15-hour day at the fair ended I was broke, tired, dirty and my feet were killing me. But my kids were so happy you’d swear we’d been at Disneyland. Honestly, after living out-of-state for a number of years and doing other state fairs, I must say our fair stands head and shoulders above the rest in terms of crowd, attitude and professionalism of the vendors and staff. I’m glad we went.

Ben Compton is a Palmer resident and publishes his column under the tagline “Compton’s Corner,” the same title used by his grandmother, Phyllis Compton, a longtime Frontiersman columnist.