Ballon Meta

I jumped up and down on the front seat of my dad’s car as he pulled into the gravel parking lot of the small amusement park near our home. My eyes grew wide with excitement.

Almost every time we went anywhere we passed the white wooden structure with the bright waving flags but he never stopped. “You have to be four before you can go. It’s too expensive.” But today was special. He was taking me for a pony ride.

Tears streamed down my face. I was afraid but wanted to ride at the same time. The urban wrangler lifted me onto the back of the well-worn pony. My crying subsided when my dad put one arm around my back and followed along as the pony walked around the circular dirt path. I was thrilled and wanted more and more but three times around and the ride ended.

As we walked back to the car I saw them, the massive bunch of balloons floating high on strings. My dad had just returned from his stint in the Navy. World War II was over and for the first time in my life there were balloons. 

“Hi little lady. You want a balloon, don’t you?” The balloon man smiled at me.

“Oh Daddy! I want one. Pleeeeease!  Pleeeeease!”

My dad frowned at the man as he continued to hawk his merchandise. “I’m sure your dad will buy you one. What color do you like best?” He grinned at my father who reached into his pocket fumbling for the last of his amusement park money. My dad paid and the man handed a bright red one to me. I grasped the string in my small hand and gazed at the orb as it blew back and forth in the breeze. It was beautiful, like a giant crimson raindrop. Better than the pony.  We walked back to the car, my spirits soaring. Then, the disaster! My hand lost its grip and I watched my treasure go up, up and away. “Get it, get it!” I screamed. But it rose into the sky, became a tiny dot and then disappeared.  My screaming became desperate. “Daddy, daddy. Go get my balloon.” 

“Your balloon is gone and I can’t get it back.” My dad’s expression was one of hopeless desperation.  I continued my tirade as my dad tried to explain.  The balloon man saw what was happening and shrugged his shoulders.  My dad continued to search his pockets coming up with some coins. He held out his hand filled with the coins showing what he had to offer. The balloon man looked at my dad, frowned, looked at me, smiled, and handed me another floating ball.

This time my dad intercepted. He took the string in his fingers and leaning down spoke softly. “Look. Navy men learn some important things and this is one of them. This is a slipknot. From now on whenever you get a balloon we’re using a slipknot.”  He made a tiny circle out of the end of the string making sure it was tied securely. Then he pulled a piece of it through the tiny hole. He placed it around my wrist like a bracelet. We both laughed as we watched balloon number two float into the air and stop, tethered and secure. My dad was a hero. From that day on I knew about slipknots and balloons and how the two were partners, just like my dad and I.