Famous Kid's Movie on Ice

FAMOUS KID’S MOVIE ON ICE


Packing for even a small excursion like "Famous Kid's Movie on Ice" is a major undertaking when there are small children involved. Extra clothes in case of accidents, toys to occupy the children's time, miscellaneous first-aid items and even diapers all required stashing in a diaper bag. This enormous bag already showed signs of wear, but my daughter Kayla's determination to wear diapers until college required squeezing a few more miles out of it. After loading Chelsey (five), Kayla (three), and the diaper bag (also five-years-old) into our station wagon, my wife (age withheld by request) and I (up there) climbed in and headed for the show.

We arrived at the coliseum where the attendant charged us five dollars for the right to park on a composite surface of crushed glass and rusty nails. While laughing to himself, he pointed to the closest parking spot remaining. If you squinted your eyes you could just make out the Coliseum roughly a mile and a half down the road.

I tried unsuccessfully to flag down a taxi; they all seemed too busy laughing and pointing at us. Kayla quickly sized up the distance to the Coliseum and declared that her legs hurt. I carried her the rest of the way, but we still managed to arrive ten minutes before the show started.

After deciphering the cryptic code on our tickets, we headed in the direction of our seats. We climbed straight up for several hundred yards, then made our way to the far end of the building. I felt fortunate that I had bought tickets far in advance for there were a dozen people with seats worse than ours. We chuckled at their misfortune as we settled into our seats.

The extreme altitude of these seats caused Chelsey to sprout a nosebleed. Since this had happened to us once before during our vacation in the Himalayas, we knew what to do. My wife rummaged through the diaper bag and found a cold compress hiding beneath the swim rings and emergency sleeping bags. The bleeding quickly ceased.

The first vendor to brave the heights offered snow cones to his customers.

"Snow cones! Snow cones!" Kayla shouted.

"Snoob coobs! Snoob Coobs!" Chelsey shouted through the compress.

I hailed the vendor and ordered two.

"That'll be fifteen bucks," he ordered.

"Fifteen bucks! For two snow cones?"

"Look Mister, they come in these fancy plastic souvenir cups that say ‘Famous Kid's Movie on Ice’ right on them. When the kids finish the snow cones, you can cram the cups into that huge diaper bag and take them home with you. Besides, these are quality snow cones. We use real snow, not that fake stuff you get at them discount stores like ‘Snow Cones and Such.'"

I knew a bargain when I saw one. I quickly coughed up the fifteen dollars before he could change his mind. We settled back to enjoy the show.

Beautiful colored lights bounced off the costumed characters as they glided across the ice. Because of the incredible distance that separated us, I can't say for sure if they were wearing ice skates. If they really were wearing these alleged ice skates then they are truly talented athletes.

Ten minutes passed before Chelsey and Kayla spotted a vendor selling cotton candy. The snow cones, consumed like kindling in an inferno, were nothing but a memory now. My daughters desperately craved more sugar.

"Cotton candy!" they shouted in unison. The vendor heard them and ran to us.
"How many, Mister?" he asked politely.

"Two, please."

He handed over two plastic buckets filled with multi-colored candy and said, "That'll be fifteen bucks."

"Fifteen dollars!" I screamed in pain. "For cotton candy?"

"Look Mister, they come in these too-cool-for-words plastic souvenir buckets that have pictures of ‘Famous Kid's Movie on Ice’ characters all over them. When the kids get done with the candy, you can stuff the buckets in that huge diaper bag of yours and take them home. Plus, this is quality cotton candy. We use real cotton, not that fake stuff you get at the bargain stores like ‘Cotton Candy Land."

"Then we must have some! Please, take our money!" I pleaded. We settled back to enjoy the show.

Intermission arrived. My two small daughters had consumed another pound of candy and a gallon of pop by this time, and we needed to physically restrain them. They longed to run laps around the Coliseum like the rest of the little sugar junkies. Everywhere you looked the children dangled from rafters, played jump rope and leap frog in the aisles, or screamed at the top of their lungs.

"No, you may not run laps around the Coliseum," I said firmly. "You're too young."

"But Daddy, all the rest of the kids are doing it!"

"I guess if all the other kids were jumping off cliffs, you'd want to also?" I asked, sounding frighteningly like my mother.

"Jump off cliffs! Jump off cliffs!" they agreed in unison.

Michele and I forced them into their seats and anchored them with the diaper bag. We sat back to enjoy the rest of the show.

After the performance reached its climatic ending, we were herded like cattle through the nearest door. We walked the mile and a half to our car. I carried Kayla who had seen the distance required and decided to feign sleep. I arrived at the car gasping for breath, strapped the children into their car seats, and fired up the engine. Then we waited for an hour while thousands of other cars raced to the gate. Although we were almost the last family to begin our journey home, we did see a half dozen cars behind us. We chuckled at their misfortune and headed home.

The children were too exhausted to speak but emitted a strange electrical humming noise--an after-effect from the massive quantities of sugar.

Trying to make up some time, I hurried toward home. Driving slightly over the posted speed limit, I grew careless and failed to stop completely at a stop sign. A police officer took notice and pulled us over to the side of the road.

"Oohh, lights!" the children muttered through the sugar-fog.

"All right, Mister, where's the fire?" the officer asked. "Let me see your driver's license."

I opened my wallet. A moth flew from the compartment that used to contain cash. I located my driver's license.

"Here you are officer," I said politely. "Have I done something wrong?"

"Did you do something wrong?" he asked. "You know you ran that stop sign! What are you, some sort of a comedian?"

"Actually, yes sir, I am. You see, I'm a writer and someday this will all be a hilarious story read by literally tens of my fans, and . . ."

"I don't want to hear it!" he scolded. "Are those your children?"

"Yes sir."

He directed the bright beam from his flashlight at Chelsey's eyes and, noticing that her pupils failed to contract, grew suspicious. "Those kids always buzz like that?"

"No sir. You see, we were at the 'Famous Kid's Movie on Ice' and I'm afraid they had too much . . . "

"I don't want to hear it!" he wailed. "Just take your tickets and get those children home to bed."

He handed me a ticket for failing to come to a complete stop and one for being a comedian. My wife stuffed them in the diaper bag and we drove home.

After tucking the girls in their beds for the night, Michele and I relaxed in the living room. I watched television as my wife read the newspaper.

"Oh look," she said suddenly, "the ‘Famous Names Circus’ is coming to town!"

I ran screaming into the night.