I love a parade where you can arrive at the start and find curb si
de seats for a whole family. Where kids dart out into the parade to collect candy being tossed from floats, while moms sitting on the curbs yell out, “Backup Mandy. Not so close Evan!” And behind the moms, sit the grandparents in their metal frame folding chairs. Not the collapsible fabric chairs that are stored in a bag slung over your shoulder by a strap, but the metal folding chairs of the 1960s and 70s with brightly colored plastic straps woven together for the seat and back. Where you needed to use WD-40, or in the verb form, where you needed to WD-40 the hinges each spring so the chairs would open and close without a struggle. Of course, if you sat too far forward, or the front leg wasn’t properly angled out the chair would collapse on itself and its occupant. Well, those chairs were alive and well along the corner where I sat to watch the Old Home Days parade.
Mandy stood with her brother several feet in front of the curb. No parade marshals here to urge the crowd back. Here every toe fended for itself, with a little help from mom. Leading off the parade were the restored vintage cars—a Bel Air, a Model T – driven smartly down the road. As the Aquamarine Bel Aire drew in front of Mandy the driver ducked down, grabbed a handful of candy and tossed it out the window. Mandy eagerly darted out between cars to grab the tootsie roll before it was too late.
Ten miniature 18 wheelers came into view and Mandy yelled, “look at them mom!”
“Step back Mandy!”
In response, Mandy took 1 step backward and then 2 steps forward craning her neck to see the trucks approaching. Surprisingly, Mandy seemed to retain all 10 of her sandal clad toes as the 18 wheelers snaked in between one another, driving figure eights and spirals at reasonably high speed.
Of course the fire engines brought up the rear. Not just 1 or 2 or even three,
but nearly a dozen large trucks each with its unique horn blaring in a syncopated concert of sorts. The trucks rolled slowly by representing every town in a 30 mile radius it appeared. Saturdays in Americana would, it seem, be a very unfortunate time to be in need of a fire truck or two unless of course the fire occurred in the town hosting the parade.
Certainly for Mandy and the others along the curbs, closing a state highway for the better part of an hour was well worth the inconvenience of the drivers in their pickups and less-than-antique cars waiting, some more patient than others, for the parade route to clear.
de seats for a whole family. Where kids dart out into the parade to collect candy being tossed from floats, while moms sitting on the curbs yell out, “Backup Mandy. Not so close Evan!” And behind the moms, sit the grandparents in their metal frame folding chairs. Not the collapsible fabric chairs that are stored in a bag slung over your shoulder by a strap, but the metal folding chairs of the 1960s and 70s with brightly colored plastic straps woven together for the seat and back. Where you needed to use WD-40, or in the verb form, where you needed to WD-40 the hinges each spring so the chairs would open and close without a struggle. Of course, if you sat too far forward, or the front leg wasn’t properly angled out the chair would collapse on itself and its occupant. Well, those chairs were alive and well along the corner where I sat to watch the Old Home Days parade.Mandy stood with her brother several feet in front of the curb. No parade marshals here to urge the crowd back. Here every toe fended for itself, with a little help from mom. Leading off the parade were the restored vintage cars—a Bel Air, a Model T – driven smartly down the road. As the Aquamarine Bel Aire drew in front of Mandy the driver ducked down, grabbed a handful of candy and tossed it out the window. Mandy eagerly darted out between cars to grab the tootsie roll before it was too late.
Ten miniature 18 wheelers came into view and Mandy yelled, “look at them mom!”
“Step back Mandy!”
In response, Mandy took 1 step backward and then 2 steps forward craning her neck to see the trucks approaching. Surprisingly, Mandy seemed to retain all 10 of her sandal clad toes as the 18 wheelers snaked in between one another, driving figure eights and spirals at reasonably high speed.
Of course the fire engines brought up the rear. Not just 1 or 2 or even three,
but nearly a dozen large trucks each with its unique horn blaring in a syncopated concert of sorts. The trucks rolled slowly by representing every town in a 30 mile radius it appeared. Saturdays in Americana would, it seem, be a very unfortunate time to be in need of a fire truck or two unless of course the fire occurred in the town hosting the parade.Certainly for Mandy and the others along the curbs, closing a state highway for the better part of an hour was well worth the inconvenience of the drivers in their pickups and less-than-antique cars waiting, some more patient than others, for the parade route to clear.
1 comment :
I wonder who Mandy really is.I like it how u write about other peoples actions even if you never met them! The parade sounded fun the way u wrote about it! Keep writing!!!:)
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