IT'S NOT THE ROSE PARADE!

Memorial Day has come and gone. Good riddance! I attended my first small-town Memorial Day parade on Monday. Why did I do that? Simply because Anna, daughter #2 and Twin #1, is in the middle school band and they were marching in this parade. As a loving and doting father, I felt it was my duty to go and watch as she proudly marched past with her cymbals crashing to patriotic music.

The parade was scheduled to start at noon. Anna had to be at the school at 11:00. The temperature was already 90 degrees and rising when we dropped her off. We parked the family minivan at the school and walked downtown.

Downtown Caledonia is two blocks long. It has a tavern, a nice restaurant, a Laundromat, a couple of insurance agencies, a hardware store, a farm supply store, a Masonic lodge, and an old building that Alanon uses. Caledonia’s downtown has not yet experienced the gentrification that other old downtowns have.

We walked about six blocks in the blazing heat. This was the first moment that I wondered if I had made a terrible mistake. I found a nice niche along Sam’s Joint where we could sit. They were steps that led to a door that was no longer there and we could sit in the shade and wait for the parade to come by.

As you know, I grew up in Southern California. I think the only parade I have ever attended in my life is the Tournament of Roses Parade down Colorado Boulevard in Pasadena. That was a regular experience for me in my youth. For me, the Rose Parade is the definition of the word “parade.” Somebody should have warned me!

The Caledonia Memorial Day Parade started off with a bang! Two fighter jets flew over downtown at precisely noon. (How do they get the time so perfectly right?) It was downhill from there.

The VFW guys marched by and the crowd went wild. I just felt so proud that our boys are dying in yet another nation to “save our freedom.” Yes, that’s what the sign said. “Thank you to our armed forces for fighting for our freedom in Iraq.” Mia looked at me nervously. She’s always afraid that I will say something too loudly and get beaten up by VFW guys with their toy rifles. I just silently wondered how my freedom depends on what is happening in Iraq. Then there was a sign that said, “Thank you for your sacrifice.” I wondered, a little too loudly, if that wasn’t kind of a loose use of the word “sacrifice.” I turned to Mia and said, “By definition, doesn’t a sacrifice have to be something voluntary?” She shot that look at me and I shut up.

Enough of my left wing, commie, pinko ranting. Back to the parade. After the VFW heroes came the Boy Scouts and the Cub Scouts. Then there was the fire truck, the ambulance, and the search and rescue vehicle. Following these beautiful floats came the Harley Davidson guys. Six gorgeous motorcycles with big old fat guys with long hair and beards and bigger, fatter women sitting up behind them. Stirred my heart.

Next was a guy who has a hot air balloon business. He had one of his baskets in the back of a pick up truck and as they passed by he pulled the handle on the gas thingy and shot a flame twenty feet in the air. The crowd went nuts! The classic cars came next.

Finally! The middle school band!!!! I actually stood up to see Anna. I spotted her! She was on our side of the street! There she marched in the sweltering sun. That’s all she did. She marched. No cymbals. Nothing. She might have been humming along but I couldn’t tell for sure.

Three farm girls rode their horses behind the band and that was it. Eight minutes of riotous, patriotic fervor!

We’re all sunburned. Mia really got it bad on the tops of her legs. I’ve already had enough sun in my life to support thousands of carcinomas so it didn’t really bother me. I asked Mia if there was any other way I could demonstrate my love for Anna next year. She gave me that look and I shut up.

(After we picked Anna up she informed us that she was sharing the cymbals with the other girl because they were too heavy for one girl to carry during the entire parade route. I’m serious.)