"I'd been before, sans child, so I knew full well the truth of all the rumors about pot-laced Fruit Loops and people wearing nothing but a strategically placed taco shell, funneling cheap, lukewarm booze into their mouths till they dropped.
But I also knew it was going to be a convergence of people who value spontaneous acts of untethered creativity. In past years, I'd seen a lavish, wooden pirate ship; a huge, steel, fire-breathing dragon; artist-made seesaws and swing sets that rivaled the government-issue stuff. I'd seen a sense of neighborliness I've rarely witnessed elsewhere; people biking instead of driving, going an entire week without buying or selling anything. People who believe so strongly in art and fun that they're willing to haul a week's worth of food, water, shelter, and silly clothing out to a barren lakebed in Northern Nevada to share good times with 40,000 strangers. Those were the things — and people — I wanted my kid to see.
There are stories about the occasional parent who rolls into Kidsville, makes some half-witted assumption about nonexistent babysitting services, and heads out to go dancing. The fun-loving, community-minded people of Kidsville have their limits, though; parents who are that irresponsible are asked to leave before they can even shake off their hangovers.
I'll be honest though, I was a little jealous of all the grown-ups who trounced around without curfews, the ones who got to marvel at the lunar eclipse, watch the unofficial, premature torching of the man, and dance till sunrise. But if you've been a parent for any length of time, you're used to parties raging on without you. I downshifted to kid gear, and, as often happens, I was impressed a few times by how much fun it turns out to be running around looking at things from a preschooler's-eye-view.
