Another Parade Passes By

This may sound un-American, but I hate parades. Watching bands and dignitaries and floats made of tissue paper flowers march by while I stand on the sidewalk is just not my idea of fun. And, in case you didn’t know, parades generally take place outside, in all that weather. Either the sun is beating down or it’s raining. I don’t really like crowds, and there are always lots of excited people milling around at a parade. I can take all this in short doses, but the really good parades are ridiculously long.

I came by my dislike for parades naturally- it’s genetic. My mother also hated parades. Nonetheless, when I was a kid, we would faithfully attend every parade in our hometown of Swissvale. Why? Because my cousin was a majorette, and we were there to support our family, my mother explained. Mom would sit there with a huge smile on her face, waving her little flag, muttering under her breath, “Boy, I hate parades.” The lesson was that loyalty to family trumped everything else – you can endure anything for your family- even a parade.

Over the years, I couldn’t really get away from parades. When my son was young, we attended the Canonsburg Fourth of July Parade annually. This was the quintessential parade. It was the second largest Fourth of July parade in the state, second only to Philadelphia, but primarily this parade was known for the lawn chairs lining the parade route that residents would put out sometimes days in advance to reserve their spot. Even I had to admire the breadth and depth of the participants – sometimes the polka band would be followed directly by the ABATE club members riding their motorcycles. It was also really, really long – 2 ½ hours was pretty typical. It was torturous for me.

Just as my son was reaching the age where he might be able to attend this parade with some friends and would, in any case, be totally embarrassed to be seen in public with his mother anywhere much less the local parade, he became a drummer in his high school band. The Chartiers Houston Junior Senior High School Marching Band was, in my humble and totally objective opinion, terrific. Even if I did not just love my son enough to attend band functions, it would have been a pleasure to watch this band perform. Thank goodness, because for the next 5 ½ years, I attended every home football game, band festival, School Bus demolition derby, and, oh yes, local parade, including the Canonsburg Fourth of July Parade, specifically to see this band and my son perform.

That brings me to the Houston Pumpkin Festival Parade, which was the exception to my parade-hating rule. I didn’t just tolerate this parade. I LOVED this parade. It was part of one of the best three-day fairs in all the land and took place the second weekend of October, when the weather was more likely to be temperate. The Chartiers Houston Marching Band, the best marching band in the world, was the only band in the parade. While it had all the elements of any typical parade, it was small and intimate, and, more to the point, short, generally less than 30 minutes. It was the perfect parade.

The first year that my son participated in the Houston Pumpkin Festival Parade, I realized that he would have to be dropped off at the high school about an hour and a half before the start of the parade. I decided that after dropping him off, I would just find a place to park in the residential area near the parade route and wait around for the parade to begin.

Parking was scarce, and I was having trouble finding a spot. I was driving by the house of one of my son’s friends, which was on the parade route, and I noticed that their off-street parking spot was empty. Bobby’s dad was standing in the back yard, so I stopped and asked if I could use their spot. Sure, he said. The next thing I know, Cindy, Bobby’s mom, was at the side door, inviting me in. She had just made a pot of coffee and had some fresh pastries all ready. Cindy and I had gotten to know each other very well when our boys were friends in elementary school, but as they got into high school they developed different interests, so we didn’t see each other nearly as often. We had a nice visit, and then watched the parade from her front porch. This became an annual tradition, one I looked forward to each year, and one I remember fondly every October.

I thought that my days of enforced parade attendance had long ago come to end, but then I took a job in downtown Pittsburgh where I am sometimes forced to listen to parades even if I don’t have to watch them. The Veteran’s Day parade was marching past my office building just the other day. I immediately turned into the Ebenezer Scrooge of parades. My mouth clenched into a frown. “Infernal noise,” I muttered, “will that incessant racket never end?”

Then the sounds of the marching bands made me remember those days as a Chartiers Houston Marching Band groupie, and sharing the Houston Pumpkin Festival parade with Cindy, and I softened a little. My nostalgia ended long before the two-hour parade came to an end, but for a moment I remembered that any event – even a damn parade- can be splendid when spent with family and friends.