Carnival

there's a carnival
tonight
and I'm sad
'cause I'm the only one
who can't go
so I sit here on my tramp
feeling blue

I sat with my daughter last night in the back yard and listened to her write "sad" poetry about not being able to go to the school carnival.
She knows the drill but has to ask anyway, "Please can't we go-I really wannnnt to."
I explain that "I'd love to be able to say 'You bet, let's go! And while we're at it, let's go out to dinner and after that we'll sign you up for piano, violin and dance lessons, and then spend saturday at Lagoon." She smiles at the thought of this kind of life as I continue: "But right now, we have to be very careful with what money we have..." she interupts me because she's heard it all before with "Yea I know."
We lie there on our blankets and pillows on the tramp listening to the rock and roll breezing over from the school. "It feels sort of like we're on the outside of everything right now, dosn't it?" I ask, "But it won't be that way forever."
"I know." she yawns.

What she can't suppose is how delighted I am to have this moment of introspection and conversation with her. How happy I am to hear her writing and talking about honest feelings and to just lie there together looking up at the trees.
The dog jumps up and the tramp gently bounces us until she lays down by us.

How happy I am to miss the big, bouncy, screaming excitement and noise going on at the school. I'd give a hundred carnivals for a night like this.