One of the joys of having spent years in the circus means eventually your talents will spill out over the edges of fantasy into the dimmer, sharp reality of life itself. You will bring your gifts with you when you watch the final tent come down and embrace all of the people you called family, even though some of them didn't seem to have proper names and even fewer of them had a plan to withstand the outside world, as we called it. How do you transition from traveling with the show to having a regular job and paying regular bills? It's akin to being released from prison. You must assimilate back into a society you rejected before. You must roll up your magic tightly with your showmanship, stuffing it far into a dark corner and not speaking of it in public because you want to fit in, not be the freak where no one pays you.
Until children are involved, that is.
I came downstairs this morning and Lochlan was teaching Henry how to juggle knives. Henry was using paring knives and Lochlan had his short swords. IN THE KITCHEN. Henry was mostly thrilled to be holding a knife, period. I'm not big on knives. I will happily toss my children into the ocean and tell them to swim but no, they can't cut that tomato, because I can barely cut that tomato, having a long history of issues with knives. They just gravitate toward my flesh.
Anyway,
Lochlan said this afternoon we might go outside and he'll toss the fire batons around for a bit for the children. Which is sort of insane because he hasn't picked those up in over twenty years but something tells me it's a lot like riding a bicycle. And not at all like being normal. Being normal is not second nature, it's not something you learn once and remember forever. It's an uphill battle every day.
We are still learning. We are still freaks. We will always be the freaks.
I'll be passing the hat. Be ready with your dollar bills.
