I Was Within Walking Distance of a Parade

I’m trying to train the fridge to hum a happy tune.

It’s not going well.

Its morose humming was wearing on me, and I wish to make its droning a bit more upbeat.

I hope it learns the song, “I Love a Parade.” Find the nearest table or desk and start marching around it. Everybody sing along in the key of off.

“I love a parade, the tramping of feet. I love every beat I hear of a drum. I love a parade.”

If that’s too much for the refrigerator, I’m going to teach it a song by The Champs called “Tequila.” It has one word in it, “tequila.”

Back to a parade, which is a Norman Rockwell painting with crushed Tootsie Rolls.

If you love soccer, you must be gobsmacked by all the action and excitement of a parade.

A friend told me he’d been in a parade, walking behind a float. His job was to dispense candy to children. He had an enjoyable time except he kept falling behind the float and needing to hustle to catch up.

I’m privileged and proud to have taken part in many parades. I don’t want to ride because I’ve never perfected the royal wave. I’d rather plod along and greet folks who claimed a place along the route for their chairs two days after last year’s parade had ended.

My favorite part is walking along and passing out goodies – candy and tchotchkes – to good folks who came out to see a parade. I love people and putting my kickers to work.

On my most recent parade hike, I got a bucket of stuff and off I scattered. Hot days can make people feel as limp as aged lettuce but having a mission can combat that.

Why don’t I give the kids something healthy, like kale? Good point. It’s because I can’t bear to see the look of disappointment on a child’s cherubic face.

Tootsie Rolls have their loyal fans, but they’re not a crowd-pleaser among kids. I learned this by doing exhaustive research. I asked candy-craving kids if they’d rather have a Tootsie Roll. They might rival kale for unpopularity. The chewy, chocolate-flavored candies are the ones kids likely ignore or toss. The artificial flavor doesn’t make young taste buds dance.

One year I supplied Chapstick tubes, and because minds were set on ingesting something, I cautioned people not to eat them.

I visited with folks along the parade route. Al is a good name. It’s a noun, not a verb. There are a lot of verbs watching parades. On the parade route, I spoke to Sue, Bob, Nick, Hope, Bill and Chuck. Tired folks from doing double duty as both nouns and verbs.

I chugged along, doing the best I could.

Like my friend, I fell far behind my associated float.

I fell behind because I was trying to give candy to those who weren’t begging for candy. Aggressive kids venture close to the floats and the givers of sweets to snatch a treat; and the polite or shy kids sit by their parents or grandparents watching the world go by in parade form. I figured they deserved candy as much as the next kid.

The float couldn’t come and get me. Backing up is unwelcome during a parade. I needed to get the train back on the tracks before I fell back to the end of the parade where I’d be walking behind the horses.

My father claimed he liked politicians more than horses because politicians don’t poop during parades. That may still be true today.

The secret to a successful parade walk is to be ahead of anything that’s walking and isn’t afraid to poop on pavement in public. This is especially true of elephants.

I missed my float on its trip back to where my car was parked. I walked to that place. I was lucky that I’d given away all the candy, so I didn’t have to carry a bucket full of candy the one and a half miles uphill. Even then, I fell short of the requirement to have a shoe named after me.

But I stayed ahead of the horses.

I won by a length of a Tootsie Roll.