Remember when I posted about The Pink Pig? Well, I was beginning to think I had fabricated a story about The Pink Pig. None of my family has commented or called to explain the story. To my rescue, an Atlanta reader offered insight through a comment:
[…]FINALLY, they would take my sister and me to visit with Santa Claus, which was of course the “real” Santa, at the downtown Rich’s.We would stand in line for hours, walking through Santa’s workshop, complete with reindeer, just to have our picture taken with Santa.
The undeniable highlight to the day was always the Pink Pig. The ride took us over a Christmas village (without parents) outside the building that surrounded the Great Tree. Once the ride returned indoors, it flew over the toy department before returning to its starting point. After completing the journey, we got a sticker that said “I rode the Pink Pig”. That silly little sticker, which by the way permanently left an oval adhesive outline on our clothes, was like a badge of honor.
The Pink Pig helped make Christmas magical in a carnival sort of way. Until I had kids of my own, it never even occurred to me that there were children who had not ridden or even heard of it.
I can’t imagine what my life would be like without those memories. Sometimes when I’m sad, memories like the Pink Pig help to cheer me up[…]
Thank you Baily Wood for the astute comment. It DID exist. It is not an artifact of my mind’s invention. Especially grateful that you elaborated on the sticker, ”the sticker” was a critical element of the stories I have heard. The highly coveted sticker was blue ribbon kid booty, a keepsake that was truly and very sincerely prized. A simple gaphic, it was a citation of proof of your spoils, proof that you had ridden The Pink Pig.
Doesn’t the excitement for the ride make you sparkle inside as you think of an earlier time? With multiple Six Flags, numerous Disney Parks, fairs every where, amid malls upon malls filled with small motorized attractions, it seems nice, it seems simple that at one time there were fewer things.
Sometimes, too much is simply too much. People become desensitized and numb. I know The Pink Pig of today doesn’t draw the same emotion. I mean, can you imagine driving all the way to Atlanta, making a four hour trek with a car load of children every Christmas to go shopping and let your kids ride on a ride – one ride, one SINGLE ride? Wow, just saying it sounds exciting. I bet the kids were totally wired by the time they got to the ticket line. This is such a great glimpse into the past.
I would love to hear more stories. So, please feel free to share.
*Photos Compliments of Baily Wood from Atlanta from her real-life ride on The Pink Pig. Isn’t the picture cool? And, the sticker, too. I am impressed that she has the pictures. Nice work! You can read her comment in full here.