Yesterday I went to the State Fair with my oldest son and youngest daughter. This was the first year my husband did not go with us even though he was in town.

I came to the United States to join my husband in 1984. In the fall, I started graduate school in the Vet School at North Carolina State University. The state fairground was across the street from my lab. When the Fair started I could see the rides, many, many cars parked in the school pasture and even more people walking to the Fair. For some reason, most people in my lab were not interested in the Fair. The young Canadian couple with whom I worked closely made some snobby comments about fairgoers, if I could have really understood them correctly with my very poor English ability. So, even though I could have walked to the Fair, I did not go.

In the summer of 1985, our first daughter was born. I had not been back to the lab yet when the Fair started. One day, friends from Chapel Hill were visiting, and we decided to go to the state fairground to visit flea market. Instead we found ourselves in the midst of the State Fair. We actually had a lot of fun, and it became our family tradition.

Every fall, I would purchase advance tickets for the entire family even after older children had moved out. We developed many rituals like parking near the arboretum, eating ice cream at the NC State creamery store, watching cows (my most favorite animal), visiting the Village of Yesteryear and eating free hush puppies at the mill. As our children grew up, they preferred to go with their friends. But we always had younger ones who enjoyed going with us.

Several years ago, my husband and I took our youngest daughter to the Fair. While eating ice cream yet again, I suddenly saw the images of our older daughters as little girls overlapping with our youngest daughter who looked very much like them. Tears came to my eyes because I missed those little girls.

Yesterday I got on the Ferris wheel twice. As we were going up, I realized that I had not been on any rides for a long time because it was usually my husband who rode with our children. I felt a bit anxious.

I also got sentimental. For the most part, the Fair still is the same as it has been for the last three decades. In the meantime, we have changed. Soon or later our youngest daughter will want to go to the Fair with her friends without my supervision. When the time comes, would I still go alone? How many more times would I go to the Fair? When will be my last time?

I shouldn’t have really needed to know. The sky was beautiful, and the thousands of people walking around at the Fair seemed very happy. But I could not help wondering more:

What have I been doing? What do I want to do in my life? Who am I? Where am I going? Who do I want to be?