[ WP ] A ride operator watches a child grow up through the years . Seeing them once a year come to the fair to get on the ride .

Prosopagnosia. That's the fancy name for Face Blindness. I have the opposite, I've never forgotten a face. 
 
 You might think that someone with a talent like that could get a job making a lot of money. I dunno, maybe someone could. But I'm not that someone. I'm a carnie. But in some ways, I'm probably the happiest carnie there is. Everyone else complains about the actions of the carnival-goers. Their rudeness, their contempt, the way they look down on us. 
 
 But me? I only remember their faces. The joy of the children, the laughter of the parents, and the happiness of it all. 
 
 I signed on at 16. I was kid, really. At first I tried to get to know the names of everyone so I could greet them the next time around, but I quickly learned that was less `` he cares'' and more `` that's creepy, stay away from my kid.'' So now I content myself to watch. I'd like to think I have a unique perspective on how the last 40 years have changed. 
 
 Daniel in Clayton growing up from a scrawny kid with a runny nose to a star athlete, if the letter jacket is any indication. He still loves the ferris wheel, though. 
 
 Erin in Ogden was pretty sad that she could n't ride the roller coaster because of her broken arm. She made up for it the next year -- I do n't think she even noticed that I did n't take her tickets the third time around. 
 
 Robert in Scottsburg. It's amazing how the years change you -- one moment girls are gross and full of cooties, and the next he and Rene barely let go of each others hands to strap in. I was happy to see they got married and continue the tradition, bringing little Charlie to the carnival every year. 
 
 Sarah in Lake Johnson. I missed seeing her for a few years running, and then I had to help her onto the Carousal. It's a shame about her leg, but even losing it to an IED could n't dampen her spirit at the carnival. 
 
 A million faces, a million stories. All of them unique, and yet all the same. I may only see a small snapshot of their lives once a year, but at least I see them at their happiest.
