demolition boy

When the kids and I got home from School Day at the County Fair (it's always held on the first day, a Friday, from right when the gates open until the afternoon), we were full of news to tell Dad when he got home from work. First of all, the kids' Silkie pullet "Falanis" won a blue ribbon (which means the bubble bath paid off). Second of all, they had RABBITS at the fair. Third of all, the Demolition Derby was going to be held on Saturday and Sunday, and we actually SAW one of the cars - a Bondo and neon-spray-painted work of art - going by on a trailer.




Our son hadn't been to the Derby since he was a toddler and, really, I see now that we were jumping the gun a bit when we took him then, because it is inevitably a loud, hot and crowded affair, complete with beer-swilling rednecks wearing "Goat ropers need love, too" t-shirts with the sleeves cut off. Needless to say, I LOVE the Demolition Derby almost as much as I loved Willie Nelson's "Help Willie Pay the IRS" concert, which I went to in the late nineties.

Anyway, I told my husband when the gates would open on Saturday, and he actually looked at me and said, "Do you think he (our son) would really be into that?"

Hmm. Let's review. A bunch of cars racing around in what is essentially a mud pit, smashing into each other until only one car is left running.

Nah. An eight-year-old boy totally wouldn't be into something like that.

So, they went both days, and had a blast. Son called it the Damn-you-lition Derby in total innocent earnestness, which seemed so appropriate somehow.Follow @nicole_mcinnes