Our seat rocked violently as my gleeful brother pumped his body back and forth, staring at my horrified face. I was seven years old. We were sharing an open-air carriage, fifty feet above the street pavement.

click. click. click.

The camera sounds blended with the carnival music, fading in and out of range as the ferris wheel rotated. I gripped the loose guardrail of our seat, begging my brother to stop rocking.

Uncle David, seated ahead of us, snapped photos of the views in front of him. Oblivious to the antics of my oldest brother, his thrill came from capturing bird’s-eye shots from his Nikon camera.

I would wait for the swaying to simmer as each rotation swept the bottom. My ten-year-old brother, Matt, was both aware of our uncle’s limited sight radius and his picture-taking preoccupation.

My middle brother, Mark, sat next to David, enjoying their calm. With closeness in our birthdays, we three kids shared some sibling rivalry but more deeply, a kindred connection. Mom shared the same closeness with her younger brother, born just 11 months apart. Although seven more siblings followed and a move across the country later separated them, Mom and David’s closeness never waned.

Uncle David was visiting us in Remsen, Iowa, from his home in Virginia that summer of 1975. Although his time home was limited, he offered to entertain us. Mom, a busy homemaker, didn’t hesitate to take a well-earned day off. We would soon enjoy our first carnival experience without a parent by our side.

Remsen Kids Days, our town’s annual summer celebration, was a highlight for both the kids and adults. Held over a two-day span, Wednesday and Thursday, in mid-June, carnival rides would take over the heart of Main Street. Food and game booths surrounded the rides, filling the air with the smells and sounds of summer.

Dad’s barber shop had a prime spot at the end of Main Street. My earliest memories of Kids Days were with my hand tightly in Mom’s as we navigated the crowds. My brothers were always nearby, with the four of us making frequent stops to Dad’s shop for air conditioning and bathroom breaks.

Our 1975 Kids Days experience came with our newly appointed chaperone. Thrilled with this turn of events, we ran out the door without glancing back at Mom. The morning started with rain showers, with the skies opening in sunshine as we began walking the blocks of Main Street together. Stands were stocked with Wells Blue Bunny ice cream, awaiting the surge of kids after the annual firefighter water fight.

Uncle David was tall and handsome, with long dark hair and a bushy mustache. His camera hung around his neck, ready for duty. It was a Nikon F SLR, its weight and size adding to his air of cool authority.

In days long before selfies, the only posing we were used to came from behind holiday packages or in stiff family pictures. We felt like child actors as David followed us through downtown with his face pressed against the large camera, snapping random photos of our smiling faces.

click. click. click.

Hopping off the ferris wheel, my tendency to tattle dwindled when we caught sight of our grandparents, waving from the hamburger stand. Although on Dad’s side of the family, they were excited to see Mom’s visiting brother. A great benefit of a small-town upbringing was having both sets of grandparents living just a quick walk or drive away. Celebrations were a joint family affair.

Sitting on Grandma’s lap, I quietly listened to their adult conversation. Grandma held me close while David framed us in his camera lens for another shot.

Sharing a long wooden bench, we soon enjoyed lunch together. The Knights of Columbus grilled their signature square burgers - straight from the Main Street butcher, accompanied by fresh buns from a nearby bakery. The fragrant smell from the grill drew in large crowds over the lunch hour.

Grandpa and Grandma meandered from dessert to bingo under the neighboring big tent while my brothers and I were encouraged to choose our next ride. Relief came when David sat with us on the Tilt-a-Whirl. With my brothers on their best behavior, the ride hurled us in every direction. Trying not to slide into each other, we focused our smiles on Uncle David behind his big Nikon camera.

click. click. click.

Our friends gathered around us as we ran from ride to ride, accompanied by our added attraction—a chaperone. Keeping his focus on us, David took photo after photo of our smiling, tanned faces.

Unsure if I should hold David’s free hand, I instead stayed close to his side, watching the boys run freely with their friends. Wanting to play the many games that fascinated me at my eye level, I knew better than to ask for money.

As though reading my mind, David bought us game tokens without any prompting. A lucky roll at the coin push scored me a plastic striped ring. Matt and Mark won mini baseball helmets by throwing balls and collected cheap stuffed toys at the ring toss. All were coveted treasures for the day but were broken or discarded by summer’s end.

A watermelon attraction briefly caught our attention. The Texas melons floated with blocks of ice in a stock tank while adults hacked them into manageable pieces. Although free, we didn't stop. Instead, we bought cotton candy. Our uncle set no limits on our fun that afternoon.

Finishing off the candy with a shared soda, we miraculously rode the hammerhead ride with no upset stomachs. My decision to share a ride with Mark led to fewer brotherly antics, but didn’t lessen the blow of the jerking motions. Opposing arms of the ride swung us upside down while we shrieked in delight.

With time and tokens slipping away, Uncle David let us choose our last ride of the night. My brothers ran for another turn on the hammerhead, while I opted for a quiet, nostalgic spin on the merry-go-round.

As my legs dangled a bit too long on the sides of my carved wood horse, the organ music lulled me up and down. David aimed his camera my direction. Like a pro, I made sure my new ring was clearly on display, along with my fondness for having my uncle’s solo attention.

We soon began our three-block walk home. I didn’t give it a second thought as I grasped David’s free hand, which was dangling by my shoulder. Without a word, he gave me a squeeze; his camera around his neck, resting from a long day’s work.

The quiet of Mom’s day was broken as we stormed the house with new treasures and full stomachs. I went to my room to lie down, tired from a successful day of carnival life. With the sound of David and Mom’s hushed voices in the background, my eyes fought sleep while my body continued to sway with the motion of the rides.

My still body was reliving Matt’s extra swings on the ferris wheel and Mark's and my turns on the hammerhead while my mouth, once savoring cotton candy, was now stinging from the residue left behind. But with a camera-ready smile still on my face, I quietly fell asleep while Kids Days 1975 came to an official close.

click. click. click.