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 street pavement.

click. click. click.

The sounds from a camera blended in with carnival music, fading in and out of range. The Ferris Wheel continued rotating our rocking seat. I gripped the loose guardrail for dear life, begging my brother to stop.

Uncle David was looking ahead, snapping photos from his perfectly still seat in front of us. Oblivious to the antics of my oldest brother, his thrill came from capturing bird’s-eye shots from his new Nikon camera.

I waited with closed eyes for the swaying to simmer as each rotation swept past the bottom. My ten-year-old brother, Matt, was well aware of our uncle’s sight radius as well as his picture-taking preoccupation.

My middle brother, Mark, sat next to David, enjoying their calm. With closeness in our birthdays, we three kids shared a bit of sibling rivalry but a deeper kindred connection. Mom shared the same closeness with her younger brother, with just 11 months between them. 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 North Carolina in the summer of 1975. Although his time was limited, he offered to entertain us that June day. Mom, a busy homemaker, didn’t hesitate to take a well-earned day off. We would soon enjoy a carnival experience, a first without a parent by our side.

Remsen’s annual Kids Days was our town’s summer celebration and a highlight for both kids and adults. Held over a two-day span, Wednesday and Thursday, in mid-June, carnival rides would span the heart of downtown. Food and game booths filled the available space between rides, the air full of the smells and sounds of summer play.

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.

That year, we had our newly appointed chaperone. Thrilled with this turn of events, we ran out the door to the carnival, without a glance back. Uncle David was tall and handsome, with long dark hair and a bushy mustache. His new 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 photos we were used to came only on holidays or in stiff family poses. 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 my dad’s side of the family, they were excited to see Mom’s visiting brother. A great benefit of my 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 listened to their adult conversation. Grandma held me close while David framed us in his camera lens for another shot. We enjoyed lunch, taking up a wooden bench together as the Knights of Columbus grilled their signature square burgers - always fresh from the local butcher with buns from a nearby bakery. The fragrant smell from the grill would draw in crowds over the lunch hour.

Grandpa and Grandma meandered from dessert to bingo under the neighboring big tent while we kids were encouraged to choose our next ride. Tilt-a-Whirl was the choice. Relief came when David sat with us; my brothers behaved, but the ride itself hurled us in every direction.

click. click. click.

We smiled broadly while trying not to slide into each other, eyes focused on Uncle David behind his big Nikon camera.

Our friends gathered around us as we ran from ride to ride, accompanied by our added attraction of a chaperone. Feeling like child stars, our uncle took photo after photo of our smiling, tanned faces.

Wanting badly to have favored status with my cool uncle, I knew better than to ask for game money. I was also unsure if I should hold David’s free hand, like I would with Mom. While the boys ran freely, finding their friends in the crowd, David bought game tokens without an ask necessary. Mesmerized by the coin push, a lucky roll scored me a big plastic striped ring. Matt and Mark opted for mini baseball helmets and cheap stuffed toys. All were treasures for the day but surely broken or discarded by summer’s end.

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 to surge of kids after the annual firefighter water fight.

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.

After we finished off the candy with a shared soda, we miraculously rode the hammerhead ride with no casualties or 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 excitement.

With time and tokens slipping away, Uncle David let us choose our last ride of the night. My brothers ran for the hammerhead, while I opted for a quiet, nostalgic spin on the merry-go-round. With my legs dangling a bit too long on the sides of my carved wood horse, I bopped up and down to the organ music. Now a pro, I flashed a smile to my uncle’s camera, being sure my new ring was clearly on display. My smile captured my fondness for having my uncle’s solo attention.

A three-block walk from Main Street, we soon began our trek home. I didn’t give it a second thought as I grasped David’s free hand as it dangled 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 our new treasures and full stomachs. Tired from a successful day of carnival life, I went to my room to lie down. Hearing the hushed sound of adult conversation as David caught his sister up on our day out, my eyes fought sleep while my body continued to feel 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. 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.