Summer vacations are a time for restful contemplation and reflection. Right. Summer vacations in my experience often consist of the following: driving too far to reach my destination, not getting enough sleep, intentionally planning too many activities everyday for the duration of the trip, spending more money than I prepared for, and returning to work wishing I had another week off to actually relax. They are about being with family until I reach the breaking point and threaten to veer off the roadway into sweet oblivion like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day.

When adding young children into the vacation mix, the collective dials are turned to 11. It is well known what is in store before the trip begins. Constant questions during the drive about when we can stop to pee, stop at a restaurant, have snacks, what time will we get there, how much longer. You will bear witness to car-seated fist fights, arguments about personal zone breaches, debates about who loves kittens the most. I prefer that last one, if I have to choose one.

Have you ever taken a segway on a trip? How about a segue? Well now you have because we are taking one right into my vacation story. My editor said the transition was a bit too harsh. Luckily, I am good at words and was able to create a seamless shift in topic.

One day of the trip, we all ventured to a cozy little town that has vintage carnival rides, skee ball, and overpriced soda. Seriously, most of the rides were 50 cents, skee ball was 25 cents, a can of Coca Cola 3 dollars. My wife was ready to go home when she heard that number. Alas, we stuck it out, for the children. They are the future. Yet not capable of tying their own shoes. Yes, OT, I know they should be doing it at their current ages. Back off, friends.

Then, I heard tell there was going to be a magic show. A free magic show. Let’s break that down. Free, as in something of no cost, 0 dollars, budget friendly. In a world of inflation, it was the sanest choice.

Magic, as in the name of one of the cats we had when I was a boy. He was black, but he was not a portent of bad luck, friends with a witch, or a demon from Hell. And all of the rodent sacrifices that took place were found to be purely related to feline behavior according to the ruling of the court. Magic, as in the NBA team my mom decided I was a fan of and purchased a variety of merchandise with their logo even though I was definitely a Chicago Bulls supporter as a kid. Sorry Mom, but it’s true. I imagine that the Orlando Magic merch was less expensive and I don’t begrudge you for your choices in the matter. I am just recording these statements for posterity and whatever the word is for future generations.

Magic, as in sorcery or illusions, sleight of hand, birds or rabbits pulled from hats, card tricks, colorful scarves that couldn’t actually be used for warmth, frivolous wand waving and their ilk. Did I own a basic kid’s magic kit when I was younger around the time I supposedly preferred the Orlando Magic? Yes. Did I watch that show on Fox where they explained how common magic tricks were done? Yes and instantly regretted it. Did I watch that TV special in which David Blaine performed levitation? Yes and so what if I briefly thought it was possible and that all I needed to do was tap into my inner power like the Force. But all of that occurred in my youth. I no longer seek displays of magic, especially not in a public setting.

So at no cost to us, we were offered a chance to behold a performance of a dude pulling animals out of a hat.  At the cunning cost of free, the magician had already tricked us. There are almost no expectations for this variety of production. Thus, if he did anything remotely in the vein of magic, it would be better than we could anticipate. And since my children are fascinated by a television program wherein various characters release fancy tops into an arena spinning round and round until they hit each other, they were fully committed to the free magic show.

I feel it must be stated once again for the record, I am not totally against magicians. I am, by circumstance, capable of juggling three items at once. Magicians and jugglers, as we all know, are closely related, as are plate spinners, mimes, ventriloquists, and people who walk on stilts. What a group this comprises. All types of entertainment we no longer find entertaining. Except magicians and even then, only sporadically, but mostly just because other forms of visual diversion are occasionally unavailable. Like literally anything else. I would rather see a senior center recreational croquet match or watch my cat lick its own butt.

I took a seat at a table under an umbrella far away, though close enough so one could observe the show, but with as little active participation as possible. My wife quickly noted the magician sounded a bit like Jeff Goldblum. However, he did not use any of the following phrases that would have made the comparison easier to subjectively grade: 

1. Must go faster.
2. Change your apartment, change the world.

He did, however, pull doves, so many doves, out of so many places. Real doves, fake doves, a duck that was a dove moments before, etc. All the while, he mixed in some form of comedy that I could not identify. It seemed to work for the kids in the audience though. If I threw my figurative top hat in the ring for a show of magic free of charge I would have started with the dove tricks, then acted like I turned them into Dove soap bars and Dove chocolate and threw them into the audience. For the finale, I would have taken the inflatable guitars he sold after the show and played air guitar to “When Doves Cry”. Who doesn’t like to see a premise completely driven into the ground? 

For a second part of his act, he did something I still don’t understand and probably never will. Like the last scene of “2001: A Space Odyssey.” I’ve been told I didn’t understand that because I am not intelligent enough. Maybe the same is true for this situation. The magician pulled out a furry purple marionette and moved it around as part of a skit, all to the theme from “The Pink Panther.” I can firmly state the only marionette related performance that I have enjoyed was “Team America World Police” and this was not that, my friends. This was disturbing like “The Dark Crystal” and disconnected from the rest of the production. I feel strongly that the magician and/or his assistant/spouse must have fabricated the stringed monstrosity. But for what purpose? How did it relate to the magic show? Were we experiencing performance art or did this guy watch too much of Steve Martin’s early stand-up work? Without deceit, I can plainly tell you that the purple puppet still haunts my dreams.

It was the closing of the spectacle that held the magician’s greatest trickery. In his final act, he brought up a young girl as an assistant. After finishing, he gave her parting gifts and told the crowd there were more available after the show. He would offer a packaged set that included a wand, a book of magic, and an inflatable guitar. This amazing collection could be ours for the more than free cost of five dollars. Naturally, both of my kids took home a set of these items and we left the free magic show with ten dollars less than when we arrived. Touché wizard, you won this round.

We soon realized the magic wands were actually just black straws with white tape to give the illusion of wands. You won again, sorcerer.

As I lie here in bed dreading the coming visions of the grotesque purple spawn of Satan, I long for the time before I went to the free magic show. I long for overpriced soda and the carousel with its companion calliope playing a song that totally did not fit the genre of the adjacent music.

When we wandered into the amusement park grounds, I quickly noted the familiar sound. I enjoy a good calliope for reasons I can’t really explain, but it feels comforting. The first song I heard was Sinatra’s “New York, New York”. Later, I picked out Bobby Vinton’s “My Melody of Love”. Yet somewhere in the middle as my kids and wife took their places on the fine statuesque steeds, I could have sworn the song being played was The Offspring’s “Why Don’t You Get a Job.” This struck me. Surely this park, full of classic, vintage, I need another word, old stuff would not play that tune. It made no sense. Until I recognized the melody as being the same as a much older song, that of The Beatles “Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da”. I was not aware of this treachery and the online rabbit hole was deep, my friends. But that is another story.

Alas, the time has come for me to strike back at my fabric enemy. I leave you now to search for the two new inflatable guitars in my home so that I may banish the purple demon in the spirit of character from a show I shall not name (because it would be a minor spoiler and I don’t want to bring down that heat on myself and my family) as I play “Master of Puppets” and pray for peaceful rest once more. 

If anyone feels the urge to suggest I play “Abracadabra” by the Steve Miller Band, just go ahead, do yourself a favor, don’t come back.