Written By: Angela Carol Baker.
I must confess…for many years, I HATED parades. Whose idea were these stupid acts of torture? Having been forced to participate in more than my fair share of parades as a part of a dance group, cheerleader squad, church youth group, and later on, a volunteer at a nursing home, I was burned out on the whole idea. I haven’t watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in over a decade as a personal venue of protest! Maybe it was the cold (dance tights and tap shoes are NOT proper walking attire for anyone, in any season!) Maybe it was the hordes of kids, screaming from the sidewalks, wanting me to throw candy to them. Maybe it was the lights and sirens that the police AND the fire trucks insisted on blaring every year. Maybe it was those wretched clowns who were always in attendance and, as luck would have it, usually lined up near me! I’m not sure why I hated parades, but I did. There, I’ve admitted it, that’s the first step in healing, right? Now what’s step two again? Oh, it doesn’t matter anyway, I was going to get a crash course in Parade Haters Anonymous today, whether I liked it or not.
My best friend’s niece, Marley, was in the Easley Christmas parade today. I’ve been a part of that child’s life since before she entered the world so; I wasn’t about to miss this, even if it meant giving up my coveted day of sleeping in. Do you know how hard it is to drag yourself from a toasty warm bed, on a Saturday, on the coldest day of the year so far, with the sole purpose of then standing outside in said cold to watch people walk past you? I mean really, whose idea was this again?
Confession #2…in case you don’t live in or around Easley, you don’t know this…on Tuesday of this week, a tornado picked Main Street of Easley, SC, to ravage. It blew out windows in businesses and ripped up quite a few lampposts. It even twisted a church steeple sideways! Thankfully, no one was hurt. I mentioned this because the parade route goes up Pendleton Street and turns onto Main Street. For a while, there was talk of having to cancel this year’s parade. My confession? I was hoping they would have to cancel. I know it’s a horrible thing to wish but no such luck. The show, or rather, the parade, must go on. But I digress.
So there we were, lined up along Pendleton Street with the cold nipping at our fannies and noses, waiting for the parade to begin. Then, it happened. From over the hill, you could hear the sirens and soon, see the lights. Yep, it was the beginning of the parade. For a moment, all the past parades haunted my thoughts. Then, as they neared, something strange started to happen. I’m not sure if it was the excitement of the children, hoping to catch a piece of candy or if it was how the parade line would have long gaps in it because the driver of a float had stopped to talk to a friend he or she saw on the sidewalk and how proud that made me to be part of a small town, but something very strange began to happen to me. At first, I thought maybe it was the hot cocoa I’d been drinking but no, that wasn’t it. Then, it had to be the fact that the sun began to peek out, warming us up, just a little. No, that couldn’t be it either. Then, I realized what was happening. To quote one of my favorite Christmas cartoon specials, my “heart grew three sizes that day!” I realized that everything I had dreaded about the parade was now everything that made it special. In this high-tech, fast-paced, no-longer-know-our-neighbors world in which we live, here we were, stepping back to a much simpler time. We were standing, side-by-side, with all races, all ages, all religions, all walks of life and we were all happy. We were laughing about the cold as our teeth chattered. We commented on how nicely the floats had turned out. We exchanged compliments on how pretty or handsome our sidewalk neighbors’ children were. We laughed and pointed, smiling, waving and calling out their names when we saw people we knew who were in the parade. We were, for one short hour, indivisible, and it felt wonderful!
By the time Marley’s float neared us, I remembered why we watch and participate in these “stupid acts of torture”, as I had called them earlier. I knew why even a tornado couldn’t stop a Christmas parade. It’s the power of the magic that is childhood. Childhood is that sacred period in a person’s life when everything is bigger, better, more special, more beautiful and more real than any other time in life. Hope is our ever-present companion. It is when we wake up happy to open our eyes and we go to bed, sad that the day is over. When’s the last time you did either of those things? That’s what I thought. Childhood is when we used to get butterflies in our tummies instead of ulcers. We fought as Cowboys and Indians instead of Christians and Muslims. We laughed just to hear ourselves laugh. It is when we pledged allegiance to the flag, proudly, and daily in our schools. It is when we bowed our heads to pray over our food instead of hiding it and asking God to bless our food silently, if we remember. It is when we chose our friends based on enjoying their company and not on how they could improve our social standing. Childhood is when things are simple. Childhood is when parades are magical and fun. Childhood is when a parade can make us smile. Today, I revisited my childhood and I smiled.
(Republished with Permission)
Angela Carol Baker’s articles have been published by the Pickens Sentinel and also on her blog
