I love living in a small town, and I really love our small town of Bridgton, Maine.  All year long Bridgton provides many family friendly events, and they are always well orgnized and well enjoyed by our local friends and neighbors.  One of our biggest annual events is the Festival of Lights, which is a kick off to the holiday season, and always held on the first Saturday of December.  Over the years, I have juggled in the fesitval's parade, the tree lighting, and, in recent years, at the community center as part of the kick of to the evening's events.

Another thing I love about Bridgton is that, when I do shows at community events, no is bothered by the fact that I include a Gospel routine or two, and, likewise, no one accuses me of compromising if I ONLY do a Gospel routine or two.  Mainers - true, rural western Mainers - are known for their unique blend of self sufficiency and respect of other's ideas.  (Two qualities this country needs more of in recent years.) So when I did two half-hour shows at the start of the Festival of Lights, it was just par for the course that I introduced "O Come, All Ye Faithful" as a song of praise for the Christ child.  In fact, both shows were well attended (better than it past years), and both well received.

Yet I didn't hit people over the head with the Gospel of salvation, either.  My message that evening, if I were to narrow it down, was "I'm part of this town, this is who I am, let's enjoy the next half hour together."

As I was setting up between the first and second gig, a family came in early, and they were memorable for two reasons.  One of the little girls in the family said something about her dad knowing how to juggle, which caused me to perk up my ears.  The other thing that stood out was how strongly the dad smelled of weed.  As the show began, this young couple and their kids seemed to love every minute of every trick and routine.  When the show was over, I approached the dad, saying how I had overheard his girl mention his juggling.  As often happens in cases such as this, I offered him three bean bags, and he showed me what he could do.  A simple cascade and some reverse throws.  I taught him stealing and half juggling.

Then he started a conversation.  Apparently, his wife remembered my show from, he said, 30 years ago at her childhood church.  From there, he talked about the various Christian concerts they have gone to over the years.  Then, as time for the parade to step off approached, we shook hands and I began to clean up the props that were still scattered throughout the room where I had performed.

As for the smell of marijuana, who knows.  It's legal in Maine.  It can also be medicinal.  Or an odor he picked up form being around others.  In the end, it's not my place to judge or assume anything, not having known this man for more that thirty minutes.  I decided to just chalk it up as another western Mainer saying, in essence,"I'm part of this town, this is who I am, and I enjoyed the last half hour together."