Caramel Apple Secret
I grew up next to Delaware Park, a racetrack dating back to the 1930's. Our backyard butted up to a large parking lot of the track, and in the afternoons, we could hear the garbled call in the distance... "And they're off!..."
During the peak of summer, the park would host a carnival in that large lot behind our house. Colorful trains would roll into town, along with tractor trailers packed with rides, circus & sideshow tents, and carnival games. The anticipation of opening night worked the neighborhood kids into an absolute frenzy.
It'd be open for a couple weeks, which to a child of 12 felt like all summer long.
And like moths to a light, boy were we drawn.
A whiff of funnel cake in the summer breeze, and the glow of stars and moonlight overhead, friends would gather...several $1 bills stuffed clumsily in our jeans. Just beyond my treehouse came the siren call of blinking colored lights, buzzers, rides, and various showman barking their games.
We'd duck through a hole in the fence...
We took our time enjoying the carnvial. No need to rush, beg for one more ride, or 5 more minutes. Our parents were home, and only several hundred steps away. And anyway, we'd be back again the next night.
Earlier that morning, we tentatively walked the carnival grounds, long before opening hours. An adult (carnie) or two silently eyed us up for the intrusion, but expressed no major objection. So we kept strolling through in that whistling, hands in the pockets sort of way.
We found an area just off the circus tents, where the animals were kept. Tigers and lions in cages. Monkeys and the like.
But amazingly, out in the open were the elephants. Enormous elephants tethered by thin ropes, using their trunks to sort through a sloppy mix of apples and hay.
A baby elephant grabbed our eyes. Unlike the others, she was active, playing, and tugging at the heavy metal chain around her foot. A metal stake binding the chain firmly to the ground. Her eyes locked on us as she paced back and forth, struggling with the chain. Desperate to play.
While the adult elephants seemed calm & content, the baby elephant drew on us the sense of sympathy...of sadness.
It would be years before the true secretof that moment would reveal itself to me.
Finally, night fell and the magic of the carnival was open for business. After ducking through the fence, we dared each other to ride the scariest new ride...The Zipper. A twisting, flipping contraption of metal that struck terror in many a young person's heart. The T-Rex of carnival rides. Many, many nights went by with none willing to take a step forward. Until at last, we'd found comfort in our mutual fear.
There's always next year, right?
After a ride or two, it was game time. And we each had a favorite. For me, it was whack-a-mole.
$1 per game. Progressive winning lead to larger prizes. The largest was a Saint Bernard that stood waist high to an adult...huge! And boy was she beautiful in the hypnotic spin of the winner's yellow lights.
To win her, you had to beat the crowd of 20 other whackers 7 times. An improbable if not impossible task.
Each night, I'd spend a few dollars chasing moles as they teased with the tell-tale sound...whump, whump, whump.
Quickly realized that if you miss one, you lose. Hit the last one too slowly, you lose.
And most nights...that's exactly what I did.
By pact, the last dollar in our pocket was used to pick up a caramel apple for the walk home. And, on that walk, we would talk about the games. About our near-wins and mostly failures.
And, during each walk, we'd think up a new strategy for the following night...
And therein lies a key life lesson.
Success comes from failing. Or rather, how you react to your failures.
Failing is ruling out one way not to win. To assess your experience and then brainstorm a new approach is the winner's perspective. And that's just what we did with our caramel apples.
Strategic thinking combined with the motivation of a reward, and the perseverance to try again. It's the old-as-time, proven time-and-again, ultimate recipe for success.
Each night spawned a new strategy from the night before. With limited dollars, I also became a student of other players. I took mental notes. Looked for patterns in how the winners' played.
A few apples and sticky faces later, I had the whack-a-mole secrets.
I became unbeatable.
The Saint Bernard was mine...I reached my goal!
Each night after that, the neighborhood kids would hire me to win for them. They'd plunk down their dollar, but want me to play. I'd implement my strategy, and win each and every time.
Baby Elephants weigh several hundred pounds. And even though their parents can tip the scales at 12,000 pounds (6 tons!), the baby is much harder to control.
I've come to learn that the adult elephants could easily have ripped their thin ropes and wooden stakes from the ground,
...if only they tried.
The baby elephant had no choice. Try or not, the strong metal chain & stake were anchored strongly to keep her pinned. She must be broken. Taught limits. Boundaries.
She must be trained to believe that that stake will hold her back.
For even when that stake can no longer hold her down, she will believe it so. So trainers can use flimsy ropes instead of chains for the adult elephants.
And, would you believe...the secret to whack-a-mole is the very same secret that could free the adult elephant?
Not to mention countless others...
To win, you must avoid seeing what you've been trained to see.
You lose if you focus on the mole that pops up. By the time you whack it, your eyes are off-center, and you miss the second mole. You lose.
Want your own Saint Bernard?
Keep your eyes centered...in the space between the moles. Use your peripheral vision. Pull the large baton (designed to blind you) back quickly out of your field of vision each time, off to the side of your cheek. Find a rhythm. Strike sharply and return again...whump, whump...
Always keeping your eyes off the moles.
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