A PARENTS' PLOT MAKES FOR AN AMBIVALENT CIRCUS-GOER

Of all the obligations foisted upon the parents of small child, I think there was none less appealing to my parents than the yearly trips to the Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey circus.

For them, there no wonder in the tightrope walk and no humor in the clown routines. The elephant smelled, cotton candy jacked up the dental bills and little glowing blue-and-red flashlight gadgets cluttered up the house.

So they embarked on a vicious plan of indoctrination. My parents enlisted every crunchy liberal concern they could dredge up from the recesses of their proto-yuppie minds. They preached about animal rights and the four food groups, anti-commercialism and sanitary concerns. Because they were bent on a mission of self-justification and shameless evasion, I missed out on Gunther Gebel Williams. Several times. And now he's retired.

My parents' plot was immensely successful. I don't remember crying over any of those missed outings. And I don't plan to visit the big top any time in the near future.

This December, when I arrived home for winter break and sulked the whole ride from the airport, my mom pointed to a billboard hanging over I-75 and smiled.

"Look, baby, it's the Cirque du Soleil," she said. "Everyone's going, it's supposed to be just incredible. They're selling out, but maybe we'll find a way to go anyway. How does that sound to you?"

Coming from her, I thought the idea was pretty weird, but I didn't tell her so. I squinted up at the advertisement and thought about sticky cotton candy fingers, crowds and the smell of elephants.

"If you want," I said, "if you want to go, I guess we can."

Maybe she was disappointed that I seemed so ambivalent. But she shouldn't have been surprised.