When an entire city throws a party, you wanna come!
“Putney’s Porta-Potty!” My dad suddenly announces. “What?” A simultaneous cry in response resounds. This seemed like a terrible idea, but taking a look around, I could see why he said it.
Our family is steeped in tradition, and celebrating, attending and even marching in parades just happens to be one of them. Perhaps this started off accidentally, perhaps unknowingly, but suddenly I look back at the past 40 years only to realize, “Apparently, I like a good parade!”
We were setting up our sleeping bags on Orange Grove Boulevard in Pasadena the December 31st preparing to watch the Rose Parade; I was 13. We were joined by a group of teens from St. Luke’s Episcopal Church and setting up air mattresses and sleeping bags was the only thing we did that night that resembled sleep; with numbers estimating 500,000 people, this was the largest slumber party I had ever attended.
Jim Maynard, a family friend, brought two ladders and a board for us to prop up and sit upon the morning of the parade. Apparently spending the night in “Parade viewing Spot” still may require two ladders and a board to prop us up over the heads of a crowd. I loved every moment, but was a bit concerned that dad was going to follow through on his Porta Potty idea.
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St. Patrick’s Day in Salt Lake City, Utah is often icey cold and always political. I’m not quite sure why we fell into this political crowd, but we did! The first parade we walked in included Abigail in a stroller and Benjamin sweeping up hula-hoop rings alongside 20 other friends. We were “cleaning up” after SLC’s 2002 Olympics; when we passed the judges, we ran up to them with “money” in our hands as if to “bribe” them so we could win the most creative entry. You may recall that in 1998, members of the International Olympic Committee (IOC) were accused of taking gifts from the Salt Lake Organizing Committee (SLOC) during the bidding process. We didn’t win, but we got an honorable mention in the newspaper!
Each year our St. Patrick’s Day entries got more and more creative. One year we held a banner for the “Irish Clear Hound Breeders Association - Utah Chapter.” No one in the group had an Irish Clear Hound and we weren’t quite sure how we got the banner, but we marched with it. Another year we marched as “M&M’s” with a banner stating “The Alliance of Dentist’s and Dialysis Centers says, Thank You Utah Legislature for keeping junk food in our schools.” Another sign read, “Vending Machines in School are Cool.” For a total of ten years, we raised the bar on local controversies; each year, getting more and more creative with edgy messages that, for Utah politics, are just enough off-center that it’s worth marching in a parade for.
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St. Patrick’s Day parade in Boston is an entirely different genre. Boston begins celebrating with the sun. Parade-goers step off the train at Broadway station party-ready, and that means green costume and beer in hand at 6:00 a.m.! No one sleeps in on St. Patrick’s Day in Boston. The actual parade doesn’t actually begin until 1:00 p.m. but no one appears to mind “waiting”.
A friend from the fire department brought his son for the parade and we had plans to meet at Zinneken’s Belgian waffles. I think we were all a little surprised with the frenetic energy on the train, in the station and then on the sidewalk. The place was bustling with crazy happy energy and all on a Sunday! (None of this was similar to Salt Lake City. “Shhh!”—it was secretly refreshing!)
A more formal approach than Salt Lake, traditional floats, Shriners little cars, BagPipers and Firefighters in formal uniforms. There are eleven bars along Boston’s St. Patrick’s Day parade route. Midway through spectating the parade, Michael got pulled into one called Amrhein’s Bar which was filled with firefighters, he was invited just to toast one high into the air before they spit him back out into the street to rejoin his family, kind of a Boston Baptism by Beer moment. This welcoming acted as the perfect departure to our week’s stay in Beantown. As we departed the parade, we headed directly to the airport for home. Boston offered us a unique camaraderie along a spectrum of offerings, all of which left us yearning to one day return.
But, I must say, our favorite parade by far is the New York City’s Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. It may be the anticipation of the upcoming holidays or it may be the magnificence of the Central Park’s Fall colors or it may be capturing each bit of what we love about New York City through the mind’s eye of a child.
Days before Thanksgiving, we prepared our Thanksgiving Day dinner by literally building out the Thanksgiving Day dinner table first. We needed to hire a driver (pre-UBER) to Home Depot and purchase a custom cut size piece of wood so Michael could replace the missing expanding leafs to our friend Cathy Simpson’s dining room table. She and I strolled through neighborhood second hand stores for silverware and mis-matched plates, glasses, etc. Within every store, she saw a friend or befriended the store owner. No one left without an invitation to dinner.
Cathy invited friends from all around her neighborhood who were born all around the world. They came to celebrate in our American tradition of too much food with a side course of too much laughter. (...There is never too much laughter!)
Earlier that morning, Michael and I took the kids to the parade. Walking toward the parade route was very much like walking on the parade route. Like schools of fish, we walked as one until we found our wall to sit upon. A tremendous amount of anticipation was felt while we awaited each band, the floats, and singing performers. There was no political agenda here, our agenda was only to be fully mesmerized (perhaps stereotypically, but we did not care) with holiday excitement.
Not everyone was accompanied by children, although it seemed so at times.
While sitting on the wall, I saw a particularly smartly dressed group standing, seemingly oblivious to the crowds watching their favorite sports hero who passed by aboard a huge red Big Apple float. I heard someone say, that the parade reminded her of the annual Carnival in Brazil, her native country. We saw various clothing styles, from sherpa jackets to down‐filled vests that were so common as to be the official spectator uniform, nearly every other head sported a brightly colored knit or stocking cap.
Another five‐year‐old watched with his mouth agape when the Mickey Mouse float loomed into view overhead. Like Abigail, this boy’s eyes shone so brightly that he seemed near tears. “Mickey,” he whispered. Michael pointed out a dad who had his two kids propped up on a board between two ladders so that any view of the parade was completely unobstructed. I was so happy to see this tradition continued to be carried out.
What is it about a parade?
Certainly the nostalgia and formality toward a timely representation celebrating a season or a holiday bring the joy-factor. But I like to think of it as something just a little bit more. I like to think of a common need for buoyancy, to be lively at heart, to hear bands blaring and batons twirling. There’s something transcendent in the energy of crowds cheering and perhaps the opportunity to see someone famous (that’s always exciting).
That very evening we sat around the Michael home-made Thanksgiving dinner table with the Michael home-made Thanksgiving dinner set upon it. We celebrated each person's country by toasting to their own traditions. What brought us together was what made us different from one another. Various foods were also brought and shared at the table, each with a story and perhaps a recipe. The richness of language with some heavily accented with clothes that brought formality to their own culture and personal style.
Our table resounded with humming and clinking sounds of a joyful gathering around a table of mis-matched dinnerware with mis-matched chairs. We too were mis-matched (whatever that means). We resembled our uniqueness within the commonness of a true Thanksgiving dinner.
As the taxi drivers drove around and around the big apple city, we fell asleep on a full belly after a full day’s adventure. We felt fortunate to have each other and new and old friends around us. To commune with the company of strangers is something I highly recommend.
