AT THE CIRCUS “BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR”

DECEMBER 16, 2023 – Yesterday evening we took our eight-year old granddaughter to the circus. It was no ordinary circus. For over an hour, my wife and I were more flabbergasted—it turned out—than our granddaughter had been: when I asked her excitedly afterward, “Did that fire up your imagination?” Her response: “Not really.” I’ll explain her nonchalance in a moment. But for now what I have to say for her lack of bedazzlement, “Kids these days!”

Speaking of kids, the performers all were kids—hence the name of the group, Circus Juventas, “Juventas” being the Roman god of youth (juventus/juventa meaning youth, from which “juvenile” is derived). Teenagers, mostly, they were star dancers, gymnasts, jugglers, and acrobats. Executing complex, spectacular moves at floor level, high above it and everywhere in between, these kids had trained ceaselessly, and gave the full-house crowd plenty to cheer.

The outfit has been around since 1994 and enjoys an excellent reputation within the Twin Cities and the nouveau cirque world internationally. I even know several people whose kids trained with Circus Juventas. To hear about such a high caliber organization is one thing; to see its fabulous results is quite another.

Individually and collectively, the performers reflected untold hours of well-coached disciplined practice over a period of years. Many of them are or well could be bound for professional careers in circus arts. And as anyone who’s attended a Cirque du Soleil production knows, cirque nouveau  and cirque contemporain are more performance art than old-fashioned circuses; a far cry from what was depicted in Helen Aberson’s 1938 childrens’ book, Dumbo or the 1880 novel, Toby Tyler; or 10 Weeks with a Circus by James Otis Kaler. Absent in the performance model of Circus Juventas (and “new” and “contemporary” circuses) are human cannonballs; dancing bears; clowns on unicycles; a whip-snapping lion tamer; seals playing catch with beachballs; fire- and sword-swallowing men in costume; and pop, beer, and peanuts-in-the-shell sold by carnival barkers in striped shirts and straw hats. (The beverages of choice at Circus Juventas were bottled water and gourmet hot chocolate available for purchase in the lobby. Snacks included small, self-contained bags of popcorn and individually wrapped holiday cookies, each bearing a well-executed stylized Christmas tree.)

As the amazing kids of Circus Juventas drew well-deserved applause from the full crowd, I quietly celebrated the (further) proof that despite getting many things terribly wrong, the human race is capable of extraordinary feats—not only bearing on the broad and positive welfare of humanity but in the pursuit of infinite refinements as compelling as these young circus performers five-and-a-half miles from our house.

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For the record, if our granddaughter didn’t share her grandparents’ amazement, her remarkable imagination had been fully engaged before—even during—and following the circus sketching scenes and scripts for a graphic novel series.

It occurred to me later, however, that perhaps for her the circus was “over the top”; such mind-numbing extravaganza in the whole as to obscure its extraordinary components. For example, when a dozen performers are doing multiple backflips, you see lots of rotating bodies defying gravity, but you lose an appreciation for what each individual is doing—springing off the floor, body arched, hands leading backward, spinning 360 degrees in the air, sticking a landing ever so lightly and briefly before repeating the process . . . half a dozen times down the floor mat.

When I asked her why she wasn’t more impressed by the circus, her responses were fair enough. “The bicycle with all those people [as many as six cruising in an intense circle at center stage!] was creepy and their tall shiny hats were scary,” she said, “and I didn’t like those people wearing the rat costumes.” But Illiana did offer praise where it was best placed: the beautifully choreographed routine featuring girls with iron grips and pretzel limbs attached to universal joints; athlete-artists who used 40-foot-long hanging silks to perform all sorts of improbable moves in what amounted to aerial ballet.

After the show Illiana got her picture taken with several of the “ballet”stars—nice kids, they were.

According to pre-laid plans, Illiana spent the night with us. This morning while Beth was busy packaging books for shipping, Illiana asked me to recover her “princess box” from basement storage. She’s been out of her “princess phase” for quite some time, and I was curious why she wanted to retrieve old costumes that been retired long ago. With a red raiment in hand she disappeared up to her bedroom, and two minutes later reappeared in the living room. Wearing a tight skimpy shimmering outfit she announced with glee, “I’m ready for the circus!”

Indeed she was, as she twirled around, did a somersault, then climbed on a chair and signaled that she had a “leap feat” in mind. That’s where I jumped out of my chair and in front of hers.

“Hold it right there!” I said.

“What?” she asked, knees bent, frozen in position.

“I have a much better idea.”

“What, Grandpa?”

“Don’t jump. You’re not wearing a safety harness.”

“Oh yeah. Okay, Grandpa.”

With that she resumed her improvised floor routine, including dance twirls. Eventually she quit the circus, switched back to street clothes, and plunged back into drawing.

I’d gotten off easy. As I reflected on the entire circus experience—yesterday evening’s extraordinary performance, my initial disappointment that Illiana hadn’t shared my enthusiastic reaction, and her later emulation of the circus acrobats—to her potential endangerment, or least breakage of living room furniture—I found amusement in recalling the age-old admonition, “Be careful what you wish for.”

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© 2023 by Eric Nilsson