Amos Thibodeau Jr. had never been to the circus, or for that matter, much of anywhere outside of the bayou. When word came down that The Clyde Beatty, Cole Brothers Circus would be stopping in his town, naturally he got excited over the prospect.

The afternoon of the circus’ arrival, Amos and his friends waited anxiously for the parade that would wend its way through the village streets to the big top. A redolance of popcorn wafted through the air. Girls all had flowers to throw to the equestrians. Boys, sweaty from horseplay awaited the elephants and camels promised by the yellow and purple posters.

An explosion went off around the corner as the parade turned onto main street rolling past where Amos stood. Dogs decorated with ribbons did tricks. Meloncholy elephants rustled by in single file. A gluttonous, impossibly fat man waved at the crowd.

“Wait ’till you see the clowns,” Amos’ dad said, taking his hand and falling in behind the last wagon.

It turned out to be one of the best times Amos ever had.