Who Doesn't Love a Parade?
On the Fourth of July, following tradition, I went to my small town’s parade. Or more accurately, my town’s small parade. Long ago, decorated floats filled the street. Modest, but attractive and lively. I remember one float blaring music while ladies from the sponsored gym, wearing their very fitted leotards, exercised enthusiastically as the truck rolled down the long streets. Every year I would think, “I really must enter next year,” and fantasized a float with Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, a childhood book I reflect on with nostalgia. Rebecca and other members of the cast attired in starched white bonnets, and crisp pinafores over flowered cotton dresses, carrying books. It never happened. And then there were no more decorated theme floats.
Today there were two that might generously be considered floats. A moving van company had two life size orange plastic cows on the open bed truck (why cows?), and another truck had very tall lollipops - flat cardboard hand crayoned disks on tall rods - with a lot of happy waving children. (The very light sprinkling of rain dampened no spirits.) Otherwise it was mostly car after car with a banner across the hood advertising the represented entry.
Here comes a procession of Model T (Model A?) cars. Adorable. Each one like a shiny toy. Each proud (elderly) driver honking his horn. No, it doesn’t sound like a honk. They sang toot toot. They really said toot toot, except for one that hollered Ooogah.
But the bands. I love the bands. They are preceded by an identifying banner with their name and home state. They are haughty. They stare straight ahead. Sternly upright. Some bands marching with rigid knees, tiny steps, heel to toe each step. Others marching with the raised knees and larger steps. I applaud loudly.
The bagpipe bands are wonderful in their skirted costumes. I noticed the bagpipers were mostly older men, marching strongly. But look – there are a few young women scattered among them!
Then along came the “hey, we’re only here because this is what we like to do” bagpipers. They wore any-old-tee shirt, whatever baggy shorts, well-worn gym shoes, socks or not. No perky hats, of course. One young man had tight curly hair wide and below the shoulders that seems never to have been caught into a pony tail, others had hair they combed or didn’t. If you put it in a movie, it would have been comic relief, but they were as intense and dedicated as the costumed marchers. After my moment of astonishment I applauded them too. I should mention, the attending crowd was so noisy, no marcher heard my applause but it made me happy.
Walking along with the parade were people carrying bags of candy. They tossed the candy to the crowd, the children prepared with grocery bags to store it. A group handed out flyers. I glanced at the one pressed to my hand and gave it back to the girl who followed. I don’t like to litter. I did accept two pencils, two pens, and a large plastic clip.
The police car with the whirling lights told us it was over – until next year.
---Florence
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