I was only eight, my parents refused to let me go up and see the bright and shiny attic I’d just discovered. Looking back I could see why, it doesn't seem safe from the memories I have of it.
My mom told me that there were clowns up there, she told me to keep me out of the attic, okay to tease me. There’s clowns up there, at midnight there’s a circus only the adults can go to. When the kids are asleep we sneak up there, ride the Ferris wheel, eat the cotton candy but it’s for adults, not kids.
This was the first time I’d caught my parents in a lie. There was a meltdown, tears, a fit, all from me. I was gullible enough back then I thought my mom wouldn't make up a story like that. She made it sound so real but when I think back and the few bits I remember like a dream that slips just out of your reach is that it wasn't that good of a story and I was really being strung along.
From that one incident I learned parents could lie. It was a completely new concept, I was a really innocent brat. Somehow I doubt my younger brothers would have fallen for the same stunt when they were eight. I wore the metaphorical rose colored glasses…okay now I want rose colored sunglasses.
I’m rambling but having fun.
The moral of this story, I’m not telling my kids about no freaking clown circus in the attic. I’m sticking with elves, mermaids, vampires, werewolves and fairies.