“Howdy! This is Big Tex. Welcome to the State Fair of Texas.” Many people have asked if I am the voice of Big Tex. No, but those are my pants.
Whose voice is that anyway, and does he really talk that way? A conversation with that guy could really tax your patience. Now that I think about it, he almost sounds like Barney the Dinosaur played at a slower speed. I can see it next year – Big Tex singing: “I love you, you love me; Yes, my jeans are made by Lee.”
Ah, the State Fair! Where else can you have a Fletcher’s corny dog, a Belgian waffle, a caramel apple, cotton candy, a funnel cake, and then be ready for lunch?
The food is outstanding, but there is so much more. There are guys who try to guess your weight, age or birthday. My 7-year-old has always won with these guys on his weight, and so he gets to pick out a 15 cent prize for the $2 price to play. On second thought, maybe they won after all.
There are all kinds of other games: pop under-inflated balloons with darts, shoot oversized basketballs into undersized baskets, bounce a ping-pong ball into a glass ashtray, toss a very small ring around the slightly larger neck of a jug.
But nobody really cares about the odds. Most of the fun is trying. Who wants to lug around a giant red bulldog all day anyway?
And how about those rides?
My traditional favorite is the Big Swing. You can’t help but kick your feet in midair as you go ’round and ’round with the breeze in your hair, a song in your heart, and your shoe accidentally flying off into the crowd below.
After retrieving your shoe and giving your insurance information to the person whose face bears the imprint you tread, why not go look at all of the new cars on display? A strange, but true, fact: Given the opportunity, your kids will get in and out of all 175 cars.
Of course, the traditional activity of a State Fair is showing off that prize bull or hog or walrus (new this year). There’s no greater sense of accomplishment than to see months, if not years, of constant love and care pay off in a first prize blue ribbon – then, it’s off to the slaughterhouse.
This year, however, was particularly special because my 7-year-old and 4-year-old experienced their very first Beach Boys concert at the State Fair. Not many people realize that the Beach Boys got their start writing songs about their surfing days at White Rock Lake.
Who could forget classics like: “Silt Surfin’,” “Mud, Mud, Mud,” and “Help Me Rhonda – I’m stuck”?
I’ll never forget my 4-year-old on my shoulder singing “Barbara Ann” at the top of her lungs, mostly because she was on my shoulders a very long time. My 7-year-old snaked his way through the crowd down to the front of the stage and shook Mike Love’s hand.
I sang the words to every song and really irritated the guy in front of me, who kept looking at his watch like he was waiting for a DART bus.
It was one of those special nights, when it all comes together just right, and you’re thankful to go home to Lake Highlands.
