A couple of years later Eric decided at the very last minute that he and his younger
sister were going to march in our town’s Fourth of July Pet Parade. A styrofoam top
hat, red and white striped tee shirt, blue blazer, and matching pair of blue runner pants
transformed him into Uncle Sam. An old gingham dress from a used clothing store was
recreated to make Mairead a Betsy Ross look-a-like. Our cocker spaniel, Ribbons, was
adorned with American flags and red, white, and blue balloons were attached to her
collar and leash.
They made a very patriotic sight as they marched down the street, American flags
clutched in each of their hands. As they marched, Eric sang a rousing rendition of
“Yankee Doodle Dandy” while his sister chimed in with sweet harmony. They won a 2nd place ribbon and a twenty dollar gift
certificate to K-Mart along with a couple of hugs and a few kisses from two very proud and delighted
parents.
Years have passed and Eric has grown a lot since that first parade. For one thing, he’s no longer the little boy
in a make-shift costume searching out p'rades, or singing unselfconsciously as he
marches. This past Fourth of July marked his debut as a full-fledged member of the
high school marching band. He looked very sharp in his orange and black uniform with
a black beret tilted over one eye and a glitter of gold sparkling from his pierced left ear.
As he passed by, smartly beating his snare drum, I imagined I saw two phantom
children marching in perfect rhythm with him. One was Eric's younger self proudly
strutting down the street with a large, yellow S emblazoned on his chest. The other, the
boy of 11, singing at the top of his lungs, “Yankee Doodle went to town ridin’ on a
pony, I am a Yankee Doodle Boy!”
© 1997
My 14 year old son, Eric, has always loved a parade. During the summer before his 4th
birthday, at his insistence, we became parade groupies. Almost every weekend, if the
weather was good, we went in search of a "p'rade." We’d lay a blanket in a shady spot
and settle down to munch on chocolate chip cookies and apples as a panoply of
high-school bands, pretty girls, gaily decorated floats, and antique automobiles passed
by. In the fall of that year, he participated in a nearby town’s Harvest Festival parade.
I’ll never forget how cute he looked marching enthusiastically down the parade route
dressed his red and blue Superman pajamas. Plump-legged and strutting in perfect 4/4
time, a look of sweet self-importance on his face, he cut in front of all the other children
so he could lead the brigade.
