I Love A Parade

Americans used to be big on parades. Every holiday had one. The Fourth spoke to everyone. Columbus Day for the Italians. St. Patrick’s Day for the Irish. The Rose Parade for rose growers and football players. Thanksgiving Day for Macy’s. Memorial Day for remembering, and Labor Day to allow everyone to make a personal statement about work.

There have been parades for special events – protest, pride, and some for plain old exhibitionism. That exhibitionism is a big part of the military. They march in formation to show that there are a lot of guys defending us. Once individuals, they now, after extensive training, have been forged into an impressive single body, ready to turn left at a moment’s notice or sling their guns around, as one. They have become a force to be reckoned with.

Back at the dawn of time, a bunch of guys from one cave wanted to visit some other guys at a cave across the valley. One of them, we’ll call him, Ugh, was kind of bossy and wanted to impress the other cave’s inhabitants. As they began their walk across the valley, it became apparent that this was just a bunch of guys in skins, and not uniform skins, a motley group shuffling in a general direction. Some had stopped to investigate an unknown flower and some were chasing each other and squealing like animals.

This wasn’t going to impress anyone. Ugh was upset. This would not do. He cried out, he gestured, he bullied, he threatened. No one understood, but it seemed to mean a lot to Ugh, so they lined up, matched Ugh’s stern expression, and moved forward as one, all the time chuckling and nudging each other behind Ugh’s back. Let Ugh have his fantasy. The funny thing was that it did impress the other group. They cheered Ugh and his buddies as they came by. It’s funny how things can affect you. Everyone had a good time and they decided to do it again, later. Next year, whenever that was.

To accompany groups such as this and groups with a more basic and combative purpose, a form of inspirational music was composed – Marches. Germans were especially good at this. In Sweden, it was more like a group of florists humming to themselves as they marched along. In America, which was founded on an odd mix of principles and violence, John Phillip Sousa wrote the soundtrack that moved the country forward.

His marches resonate deep in our psyches, whether we know it as Sousa or as that catchy tune from the movies. It gives our steps a lift. If you have ever been in a parade, you know that after marching a couple of blocks, your step could definitely use a lift.

I know, from personal experience, that introverts are just not right for parading. It’s crowded, everyone is looking at you, and it’s hard to keep your feet straight. I prefer parades with a much looser agenda. Ones that don’t take themselves too seriously.

In our town, we have the world’s shortest St. Patrick’s Day parade. It’s half a block long. I remember when this grand tradition started. We were celebrating inside. Toasting, singing, and laughing. Some one had one of those ideas that seem so appealing at certain moments of weakness and we spilled out of the bar. We only made it half a block. In later years, there was a real leprechaun – green, short, and bearded – and then little girls step-dancing and, eventually, guys performing syncopated maneuvers with lawn chairs. My friends and I cheer them on. Tradition revered and respected.

You have to hand it to the Shriner’s. Yes, they are a throwback to a more populated parade era, but they are another group that knows how to have fun. I mean, those hats. Come on. They are big, middle-aged men, wearing little hats, riding in circles, in miniature convertibles and tiny motorcycles. They may look silly, but it is well known that the expertise they have with these vehicles is unrivaled and takes much practice.

Another of the many parades in this town is in honor of Fairies and Spirits. These are represented by children, dressed by their parents. The little ones waddle down the street, looking alternately quite pleased with themselves or puzzled.

I’m not sure which town is the top parade spot in the nation. At times, it seems everyone is vying for the title and, at others, as if everyone has forgotten what day it is and simply want to sit quietly on the porch.

Once, in Minneapolis, I saw a parade of 5,000 tap dancers in costume, tapping three blocks to the tune of “I’ve Got Rhythm”. They were attempting a world record and their tapping was heard over the traffic, all the way to St. Paul.

I’m looking forward to the day when all parades are like that – just a bunch of people with a good idea, getting together to walk around and have fun. To the traditionally patriotic, this might seem the height of ungodly humanism, but it might just signify an evolution of collective behavior, higher purpose, and the celebration of a most human step forward. No more marching to war, but one happy, light-hearted step after another. Let the parade begin.