Sometimes it's hard not to smile while doing this job.

That became patently clear Saturday morning after I strolled through Cooperstown Central School's PTO-sponsored Crayon Carnival looking for some art to use in this week's issue.

I anticipated that it would be a huge event, but as soon as I saw the parking lot bursting at the seams with vehicles, I knew I was in store for something spectacular.

And how.

Immediately upon entering the school, a wave of heat and noise washed over me. Dozens of coats were piled up near the door, far too many for the few hangers to accommodate. Kids flew past me in their rush to enter and join in the fray while parents struggled just tried to keep up.

Inside the gym, game booths ran around the periphery while an inflatable, plastic playground loomed in the distant. Parents milled about trying hard not to lose sight of their own children in the sea of frenzied bodies while the volunteers staffing the event worked their tails off keeping things running smoothly.

The kids themselves all seemed to have eaten 2 extra bowls of frosted, sugary cereal and were zipping around from one game to the next and hopping about as they took in the atmosphere. It seemed like every one of them was armed and dangerous with a noisemaker too, and a steady stream of toots punctuated the music as a result. The cacophony was at once both exhilarating and exhausting and it was as close to being in Disneyworld as you can get here in Cooperstown.

At least, to the kids, that's how it must have seemed.

Going in, I'll admit, I wasn't exactly thrilled at spending a Saturday morning taking pictures of hyper kids. On top of that, I had to delay a weekend visit to Rochester to see my girlfriend by a day. Not only did I wake up on the wrong side of the bed that morning, I woke up on the wrong side of the bed in the wrong county.

So instead of seeing the carnival as a theme park full of laughter and joy, what appeared before my eyes Saturday morning was akin to a riot in the early stages - before the violence and tear-gas, but after the crowd has reached critical mass in volume and size.

Things only got worse as I loped around the packed carnival looking for likely shots. Packed lines made it difficult to maneuver into a good picture-taking position and the few times I did, the kids whizzed away before I could press the camera's trigger. Lots of pictures, but I knew I hadn't taken anything good enough to run.

Eventually however, I shot a few photos I thought could work and decided to track down the kids I had photographed. Naturally, as soon as I had taken the photo, the kids had zipped off in excitement, prizes in hand.

And then it happened. It was over so quickly that I barely realized I was no longer a slightly grumpy photographer and was now a grinning, man-sized child.

As one of the kids I had photographed ran by me, he stuck a balloon in my face and opened it slightly. Recall back to your childhood and you'll remember this makes a low, long, flatulent noise. With a stupid grin on my face, I did a few more laps around the carnival and snapped a few more failed photos, but I was no longer irate at my inability to track down anything stellar. I was finally in the spirit of the event and too steeped in nostalgia at my own childhood antics spent running amok in similar situations. And how can you not smile at something like that?

Just don't ask me that question too early in the morning.