It's a huge parade, with 50,000 spectators. And it's fun, because it's local, so we see people from all different parts of our community, from the schools to the Scouts, to my alma mater, and all our favorite local businesses.
I've been going to the parade ever since I was in college. I've got a lot of memories of it, from the rowdy pre-parties at Michelle's house in our 20s, to the bars we watched from when it was too cold in our 30s, to the first year I took Mark as a 5-year-old wearing reindeer antlers. (He'd just moved in and was super shy, hiding in Michelle's room and refusing to come out. So I introduced him as my new reindeer, and he loved that, smiling and snorting at everyone. He wore those antlers the whole month!)
But this year...this year was the most awesome because I actually got to be IN the parade! (OK, disclaimer: I was in it once before, but unofficially, after a few beers, and a dare from my friends.) This year, Mark's marching band was in it, and I volunteered to help out. (So yeah, I went from parade crasher to parade chaperone, how scary is that?)
First stop was the high school, where the kids suited up, then sat for a group photo (yeah, it was like herding cats). This is the 5,673rd shot...
I took an individual pic of Mark, and learned the only photos teens ever smile in are selfies:
Yeah, he's a charmer, that boy.
Then it was on to the parade. Part of my chaperone duties included driving Mark and two friends, both girls, and this is when the real fun began. The kids started gossiping and teasing each other, and I just drove, silently, but listening to every word. Occasionally, I butted in, mostly when Mark was being rude. I sided with the girls over Mark's bad taste in music, and bonded with them over Mark being a terrible speller (and not caring). I made a couple jokes, and laughed at some of theirs, and then halfway there, the car went silent for a moment.
"Wow, Mark, your mom is cool," Jacey said, smacking him on the head.
"I'm not nearly as evil as he says I am," I explained. The backseat erupted into knowing giggles, confirming this is, indeed, how Mark describes me.
We arrived at the staging area, where I learned the real truth about parades--it's a whole lot of waiting. I stood around for a bit, finally putting on my sweatshirt after the sun went down. My friend Kimberly made it for me when Mark played flag football, and I wore it proudly to every game.
"That's the best sweatshirt ever!" Jacey squealed when she saw it. "You should wear it everywhere!"
"I do," I told her. I smirked at Mark, who sighed, shook his head, and disappeared into the crowd. (Seriously, I want to trade him in for one of my nieces or nephews--you know, kids who like me and are fun, happy kids. They would have loved this parade!)
I tried to take some more photos of Mark (I don't know why I try). He refused to smile in the first one:
This is all I got in the next one, which I've entitled The One Where I Give Up.
"Come on, just smile!" I pleaded. "Or I'm not gonna be your number 1 fan anymore."
Mark's friends cracked up, and Mark once again sighed, rolled his eyes, and slithered off.
We stood around for a couple hours before we actually joined in the parade. I was a little bored at first, but luckily, the high school dance team was with us and they were highly amusing. They teased each other and held dance offs. They sang songs, and they danced. They stole the band's drums, and they danced. They stole the band's cymbals, and they danced. We finally moved up to a street light, where they staged fast walking races every time the light turned green. Those kids were a whole lot of fun, and they made the wait fun.
Finally, it was our time to shine. OK, mostly the band's time, but hey, chaperones get to walk in the parade, too, even if they don't have any musical talent. And that's exactly what I did, grinning from ear to ear the entire time.
It was fun to march through the giant crowd. After a season of endless practices, the band looked and sounded great. They marched perfectly, stopping on a dime when needed, and then slowly, almost invisibly, spreading out to form perfect lines. We parents walked between the drum line and the dance team, both fan favorites, so it was pretty exciting. I shifted between dancing and marching to the beat.
I also waved to the crowd and smacked high fives with all the little kids in the street, right until I hit one kid's sticky hand. Luckily, that happened near the end of the route, where I whipped out a wet wipe and washed my hand.
We made it halfway up 2nd Street when I saw John and Debbie, my brother's in-laws. John was super excited to see Mark and followed him for a block, taking his photo. I thought it was pretty cool that Mark had his own paparazzi.
Before I knew it, we reached the halfway point and the band made a giant u-turn to head back down the street. Somebody blew a whistle, and they were off! I swear, they stepped up the marching to double-speed, and I could barely keep up. (Seriously, people, I have short legs!) But I wasn't gonna get left behind--I kicked it up, too, and kept up with the band, just barely.
The second half went much faster than the first, but it was just as much fun. My face hurt from smiling so much by the time it was over.
It wasn't until the very end that I realized how good this band and these kids really were. They marched effortlessly and played perfectly the whole way. But the minute they turned the final corner, away from the crowds, they lifted their drums and instruments off their slight bodies, groaning from the weight of carrying them for two hours. That was when I saw how heavy the instruments really were, but bless their hearts, not one kid complained. They simply walked the whole street until they came to the truck, and loaded their instruments in.
Honestly, it was a great night. I was so stoked to be part of it, part of the parade, and part of the band, if even for just a couple hours. I love that parade, and the band, and all the adults who lead and teach them with so much dedication. Might have been nice to share some of those memories with my kid, but he was busy pestering the girls and trying to pretend he didn't have a mom (and that if he did, she certainly wasn't here harassing him and ruining his Saturday night).
So get ready, parade, I'm coming back next year!
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