I Love A Parade

 

The last marching band turned the corner and the drum beat echoed against the city’s buildings before gradually fading away. I looked around. Parents began to gather their belongings – chairs, blankets, coolers, tired and sweaty children clutching handfuls of candy thrown from floats and snatched from the street. Soon traffic would resume and the litter left by spectators would be ground under tires or lifted in the breeze to be deposited randomly around.

I thought back to parades I attended with as a child with my family. We lived just up the hill from our school district football field, so we’d nestle into the grass and watch the parade before the annual homecoming game. When I was in upper grade school I belonged to a city-wide drum and bugle corps. I loved the discipline of the practices and routines, but, being a deeply shy child, I quit before I had to perform. This unfortunate choice came on the heels of being ‘promoted’ to the front line. I was fine if I could blend into the background, but no way did I want to be front and center. The horror! 

When I was in high school I played in the marching band first with my flute an piccolo, and later in the flag corps. I didn’t have the option of quitting because participation was a mandatory component of being in band, and I loved being in band and playing music. 

Later, I would take my own children and foster children to parades. They too liked to scrabble in the road for candy, but the drum’s first downbeat, followed by cadence, sent chills up my spine – in a good way.