I Love a Parade
Parades have been a happy part of my life. The earliest parades I remember observing were the tiny homecoming parade that went past Daddy Leland’s grocery store in my little hometown and the big Christmas parade in Nashville. Then, when I was a teenager, I was a baton-twirling participant in either my velvet uniform or my sequin one, paired with freshly-polished white leather boots. Sometimes I added yarn pom poms to my boots for extra pizazz.
Throughout my college years, I kept a giant parade reminder in my bedroom at my parents’ house. It was a floor-to-ceiling paper mâché tree with green crepe paper leaves that had once been part of a float. My mother was a tolerant mama. The tree stood in the corner beside the wall I had painted 60s style with flowers and the names of my friends.
I love the fact that parades continue to be popular. It surprises me somewhat that people still enjoy this traditional, real world, old-fashioned activity in our digital age.
I had the privilege of being in a parade just the other night. While our six-year-old granddaughter and her parents and siblings were visiting, she invited Notty and Little and her family to choose toy instruments and join her in a parade. We enjoyed two, one with our granddaughter as the Grand Marshal and another behind her little brother.
Our granddaughter learned to play the kazoo, Ray played a brass bell, I held the plastic toy piano sideways and pretended to be playing a Glockenspiel, and the rest of us played other toy instruments I have gathered through the decades. We seven paraders made lots of noise and even got a little exercise.
I started to use the title “Don’t let the parade pass you by” today, but chose the 1932 “I Love a Parade” song title instead. When I searched for the origin of “Don’t let the parade pass you by,” I came across a YouTube video in which an almost-60-year-old baby boomer encouraged other baby boomers to get going and not let the parade pass them by.
The main reason I love a parade and don’t want the parade to pass me by is that parades have people. I can imagine an impressive parade with amazing rolling pieces of elaborate stuff, but I wouldn’t like it nearly as much as a parade with messy, mistake-prone people who smile, wave, sing, dance, and throw candy.
Sometimes we need reminders to stop and smell the roses. Sometimes we need reminders to stop and love the parade — before it passes us by.
So teach us to number our days,
That we may present to You a heart of wisdom.
Psalm 90:12