Greekfest 2014

Every year at Greekfest Oakland, Zoe sits in this man's line for her turn to request a balloon creature. I have photos of Zoe sitting here every year. Patiently waiting on her little plastic seat while he makes Elmos, and Nemos, and butterflies, and swans, and swords. Each little plastic stool made for a tiny bum has the photo of a famous personality taped to the seat. The Little Mermaid. Cinderella. Thomas. Oprah. And every time a balloon creature is finished the child stands up, accepts their prize and dutifully taps the bell, hits the buzzer, bangs a gong and then drops their tokens into the mailbox. At which point you'd better be paying attention because it's time to move down. Everyone stands up like the wave at the ballpark and moves down one seat. If you aren't paying attention, the man with the whistle in his mouth and flacid balloons in his hand will grasp your head and while gently tooting the whistle turn it back and forth until you realize that there is an empty seat to your left and a line of children waiting to your right. You'd best get up and sit down on Dorey before that line backs up any more. By now, Zoe knows the drill. And this year, as every year, she waits patiently for 30, 40 minutes or more to make her request and watch the balloon fill from one end to the other, softly bent and twisted by expert hands, folding, joining, until finally there it is, eyes drawn on with a waiting sharpie. Her swan, handed to her in swirl of whistles, whirrs and buzzes from the noise makers (Greek balloon man never speaks) is tucked under her arm while she taps the bell, hits the buzzer, bangs the gong and drops her tokens into the mailbox, as she watched 20 kids before her do the same. And the Swan will sit patiently, next to her bed for 3-4 days, slowly deflating, fading until someone asks me to take a pair of scissors and put it out of it's misery. Until next year, balloon man.