Tin Roses

Tin Roses, Part 1

"Daddy, let's go!" Annie drew out the "go" to a pleading moan. "It's been open all morning. What if we don't have time to do everything?" Her small hand squeezed mine with strength that would surprise someone who didn't have kids.

"It's been open two hours, honey. I'll make sure we do it all, promise."

Otec's Amusement Park glittered at me, overbuilt and brightly colored. The archway that led to the ticket counter had been built up two stories high, a glossy mosaic of swirling clouds and cartoon character busts. The pattern seemed to drip to the ground, where it was repeated on dozens of plastic sixty-four ounce cups sitting in piles around the trashcan.

The park presented more grandeur than I remembered, but with the disposable quality of costume jewelry. All the same, smells of roasted corn and funnel cakes had been creeping in through the windows of the car since I'd exited the highway.

I handed a teenager in a bright blue polo shirt, embroidered in gold with "Otec's Amusements," my credit card and the dispenser by the window pushed out two perforated, cardboard tickets. Annie was tugging at my arm so enthusiastically I barely grabbed the tickets and my receipt before she pulled us both through the turnstile and onto the concrete and asphalt grounds of the park.

Gift shops, snack stands, games, and super-hero themed roller coasters stood in a careful grid along the thoroughfare. Every ride and attraction hosted a polo-shirted employee, stationed to take money at the start of the line and sell you photos of your experience when you leave. Their crisp uniforms and elastic smiles gave the impression of a dozen bellhops, each catering to their own luxury hotel. We both stood for a moment inside the gate.

The last time I had stood in this spot, you'd have likely called Otec's more of a long-term fairground than an amusement park. The only rides had been the carousel and Ferris wheel, and neither had been half the height of the smallest gift shop I could see now.

Bells and sirens and pre-programed slogans buzzed from every angle at this new Otec's, filling the air with bits of noise like buzzing flies. The smells of fried cake and roasting meat that had drawn me in from the parking lot turned out more disappointing in person, originating from frozen corn dogs and thin, watery looking hamburgers.

It couldn't have held up to what I remembered, I told myself. Even if things seemed more mass produced, I knew cotton candy and turkey legs would always have a special power. I hoped a food stand would be early on Annie's list.

Something caught Annie's attention like a bolt of lightning, making her eyes go wide and her body freeze. All through the park there were a dozen or so employees, milling back and forth in bright costumes of cartoon characters with enormous felt heads. She darted to the one nearest us, a seven-foot-tall Tweety Bird holding a tray of cotton candy and light up toys.

I walked over to her while she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, her Dora the Explorer light-up sneakers blinking against the white concrete. I stood behind her and waited, careful not to interrupt. I took the moment to look over the grounds that had once been a safeguard for my childhood.

The structures were different, but the faces of the people still brought back memories of the old park. Kids laughed in mock concentration, steadying water pistols toward a target in a clown's mouth. Parents milled back and forth between the gift shops, their expressions slack from walking their children about in the sun.

Despite the similarities, Otec's was clearly a different creature than the one I'd known when I was a boy. Drinking fountains had been pulled from the grounds like weeds, the plots filled in with carts selling "Otec's Value Water." Logos with a circled R blotched the walls like graffiti. Every attraction seemed to need a theme or endorsement. It couldn't be "Darts," but "One Direction's Dart Challenge®," complete with a backdrop of five seemingly CGI teenage boys on a rainbow stage.Most any source of shade was missing unless you went inside a restaurant or paid for a ride. In place of parasols or awnings, video monitors lined the outside walls, playing movie clips and advertising rides to sun-burned park-goers.

When I spotted "Hanna Montana's Whack-A-Mole®," I realized I'd need some small bills for games, so I took the opportunity to break two fifties at the change stand set up next to Tweety.

A polo-shirted teen took the cash and handed me back a fistful of money with a smile. I looked down at the dirty cash in my hand, the paper wrinkled and a little torn. The image brought back a particular day at myOtec's, back to a summer afternoon in August when I was ten.