With A Mission.

When I was ten, my father would take me to the traveling circus. We would see elephants, acrobats, and clowns. We would eat popcorn, and drink the brew, which was really just coca cola with a hint of tea. We would go every day, even when it was raining. My father said it was a good experience.

When I was eleven, my father took me again, but only twice. He said they weren't as good as they used to be. He said he had to work more ‘to put food on the table.’ He said they would ‘no good lying thieves’

How could it be that one year ago he loved going to the circus more than I did? But now, he hated it. How could it be that he never wanted to see their messed up faces again? How could he hate them?

Over the years, the circus stopped coming, and my father died. I went on to study science. I moved to a new city. I went on to have a family.

When my son and daughter turned ten, I took them to a traveling circus. They loved it. But I saw it for what it really was. The clowns were drunk, the elephants stunk, and the acrobats didn’t really do anything amazing. I saw the conductor counting the daily money, and then pulling one of the girls to him in lust. I saw it for what my father saw it.

When my son and daughter turned eleven, I took them again. I saw the circus for what it really was, and all in all I still liked it.