I was ten years old when the circus came to town. It was quite an event for a community of 300 people.
The tent seemed just as big as the big top circus I had seen on television. I was enthralled at everything I saw. A clown even talked to me.
I wanted to try my hand at the shooting gallery. The air rifles at the booth were exactly like the BB gun I owned. I had become a pretty good shot with that old Daisy so I felt confident.
I plunked my dime down and was told I needed to hit and knock down small plastic statues three times in a row to win a prize.
The man in the booth pressed a cork into the end of the rifle and stood back. I knocked the first target down with no problem. The second shot was met with the same success. I took my time with the third shot as winning a prize was in the balance. The cork flew out at an angle and missed the target by a foot to the right. Groan.
I was devastated. How could I miss so badly? I walked away dejected. My Dad, a marksman in the Navy during World War II stood beside me and told me to try it one more time. I didn’t have another dime. He took out my entry fee and flipped it to the carnival worker.
Okay, I thought, just aim and fire. Success! I was right on the money with the first two shots. The man pushed a cork into the rifle and I set up to shoot again. My Dad reached over and did something with the cork then encouraged me to sight carefully and knock it down. Bullseye!
I’m sure the prize wasn’t anything more than some trinket, but still the same I had won at a game of skill.
We moved on to buy some cotton candy, and some peanuts to feed the elephant. It was a glorious day.
It was much later that my Dad let me in the carnival scam. If a participant had a chance at winning, the guy manning the booth would push the cork in at an angle, and it would not fire straight.
My Dad saw the scheme and didn’t make a big deal about it, he just gave me an opportunity to succeed and not be a victim of a crooked game. That was my Dad.
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