The 225th anniversary of Gardner, MA, and my Dad's in the purple convertible, at the front of The Parade...my LT. cop Little Bro is also on duty...with the rest of the town's police crew...at the end of the route. Me, I'm stuck, on a two inch curb, in lotus position, my back against my mother's knees, as she sits in her lawn chair, cheering for... everything. (Not much has changed in thirty-five years...)
The day began when one of my best buddies, Judy, showed up, morning-chirpy, as usual, just in from Connecticut, with husband and family in tow, waiting down the street for us. Her daughter, a beauty I was about to meet, accompanied her up the hill to 88 Maple Street, to rouse me from slumber and get my butt into gear for the Big Event.
My parents were delighted, as usual, to see Jude. My Mom gushed over her teen-aged daughter; my Dad shook everyone's hands; the dog shed and licked and jumped on any human she could wiggle between. (Meanwhile, my sister, the ER nurse, slept unperturbed in her daylightslumbershift, unaware and uncaring, behind closed doors. My other sister was well esconced in Marlboro, nursing a sick bf and hiding out. Cape Cod brother, twin to the Marlboro Maven, was busy with FEMA, somewhere in NE and had no time for parades--even if it was the biggest the town ever had and probably would have-- in our lifetimes. His family was happily digging clams and playing pirates, far from the maddening crowd. ) But, I was caught.
Now, on some level, even as I re-integrate into NE doings, a part of me was happy to be surrounded by friends, family, neighbors--all mostly sober, coherent and up for The Event. The weather cooperated by being at turns sunny and cloudy--offering enough warmth that one could sneak by with a sweatshirt but not broil under a wrathful sky. The Parade, itself, was handily passing right by the end of Maple Street. In fact, one of the big review stands,complete with local t.v. coverage, was set up exactly at the end of Maple Street. It was an easy walk--and left no excuses.
Judy had come to collect me, so I could walk just a wee bit farther and meet up with her parental units--whom I hadn't seen since escaping Gardner. I was nervous; though I knew they had liked me as one of Judy's close, high school buddies, that was then... Also down the street: Judy's husband of all the years I'd been away--the co-maker of their seven kidlets. We hadn't met and I was a bit torn about that intro. (I shouldn't have worried--about anything. The Karmic Road continues to unfold in front of me...)
AsI follow my willowy, blonde friend (and her raven-haired daughter) through the massing crowd, people are kind. Everyone allowing us safe passage. Balloons and flags--hundreds of flags--kids in strollers, elders in walkers, teens smiling (something that, even in Gardner, is rare)abound. No ipods in sight! No boom-boxes blasting from sidewalk denizens. No cars parked with their motors and stereos busting down the windows of the surrounding buildings. Not even screaming aircraft or ghetto birds overhead. I am getting honestly high from the small town vibes and excitement. It's both unnerving and energizing!
Then, I hear the rumors rippling through the crowd: They can't toss candy from the floats!
No beads or balloons, neither!
Faces, (not only of kids), begin to fall. I ask Judy if she knew the reasoning? (I mean, all our lives, parades in Gardner were filled with salt water taffy and penny candy and lollipops tossed-- sometimes literally-- at our heads, if not our collective hands.)
"Lawsuits--people around here are really into lawsuits these days..." Judy whispers sadly.
Before I become depressed, her Mother and Father see us. I am immediately thumped on the back, hugged, my arm held and not let go, kissed on both cheeks, hands shook and re-shook, and introduced to Judy's three sons (the others are serving in the military, overseas, bravely...)and husband. What a reunion! (What a relief! )Her sons are handsome and appropriately "cool", as only teen-aged boys forced downtown in their Mom's home turf, can be; her husband gives me some honest hugs and more honest laughs...we seem to be on a similar head vibe about (at least) obvious issues. (Plus, he's cute-- just a bit greyer than the photo of him and Judy I've had in my possession since college days. )But, in too swiftly moving minutes, the Gardner Fire Department screams a warning that the Big Event is about to descend upon downtown and I have to extricate myself from Judy's family-- to find my own. Waving good-bye, I begin the climb uphill, to Monument Park, and my Mom.
I am shocked to see people lining the hillside, and the park, four deep along the parade proper. However, people let me through...no grumbling....no shoving...no jockeying for position. (How unlike L.A. events where you can be knifed for brushing too closely against a stranger's back...however innocent the contact might be.) I keep reminding myself: this ain't L.A.
I scurry through the park, dressed in my black hoody and torn jeans, but now with proper NE hiking boots. (I am blending...slowly.) The park is as I remember it, back in the day. Now, though, a small, bandstand, painted with clouds (by the boy I played army and went fishing with, four decades back: Mark Lore) is at one end. I admire it for a flash, but have to keep moving. (Possibly I might just get a glimpse of the beginning of the parade, with all the politicos in town--including Dad--and then be able to sneak home...)
As I make it to the other end of the park, the announer bleats: "Here come the council members ..." And so they arrive.
Some of them, like Dad, in the driven purple convertible; others walking and shaking hands, like a St. Pat's Day extravaganza; some of them, like my cousin, have held other offices --including mayor--most of them I know from their families I'd grown up with. For me, it is this very weird,moving, blast from the past: like an army of soldiers from one's life, walking in front of one, just out of reach. A Twilight Zone episode...I shake it off and, when the break next comes between marchers and floats, I sprint across the street.
I find myself on the edge of Sacred Heart School--the setting of my most recent novel. Like a movie set--it roars up in front of me: the old convent, now used by everyone but nuns; the empty space where the red brick building loomed for the older students; the yellow brick "new building"-- no longer new, but the actual site of much of the action of the novel...o how I'd like access to those rooms...but the parade is building momentum and I have to look for Mom. (I'd promised.) Besides, I'd spent about forty minutes with Judy's family, downtown; it is only fair.
Passing hundreds of happy paraders, literally, a skinny arm snags my sweatshirt and I am pulled down, on to the curb.
"I almost didn't recognize you, K.K.!"
Mom's voice hollars above the crowd. She pushes her lawn chair backwards, leaving about two feet of sidewalk clear. Two older people, one on each side of her, grin, staring at me.
"You remember your old neighbors, the Fishischers,don't you?" Mom points to the people around her.
I sort of do. (Pretend I REALLY do.) Shake more congenial hands. They marvel at my almost white hair (no mention about the spikes nor blue sunglasses) and comment how I ,"still look the same--except of course, the hair !"
(I wonder how that is even possible--I was twenty when they last saw me--oh well.)
I plunk down on the two inch high curb,my hiking boots and short legs stretch in front of me, my butt on concrete. (At least it is in the shade.)
I notice the high percentage of Older People around me. I notice the civility of the lines and lines of Younger People, too. It seems most of the town's teens have been incorporated as "Civic Workers"--sporting flourescent yellow tee-shirts and camo pants. They are "keeping order" by walking up and down the Parade Route. Some of them have walkie-talkies. Most don't. (Is this the New Order in town? It's a little scary--but I can't let my imagination flow with that...maybe it's just a way to "Motivate Youth"? Hmmm....)
Pretty soon, horses, followed by Mummers, followed by Fife and Drums; elaborate floats float by; the community college with a huge inflatable globe; Habitat for Humanity :banging walls up on a flatbed and getting enormous cheers (Gardner has a Habitat for Humanity! Wowza!); sadder floats from some of the local churches, echoing the drab colors and severe settings of New England Spirituality at it's strictest--but still part of the parade--come in turn; a local gym, with free weights and elipticals, manned by two guys in Oakley glasses and buzzcuts, joined by NE- sized women, all working out to loud music; historical re-enactors marching in barefeet and shooting blunderbusses; all the VFWs and Eagles and Lions Clubs and Masons and every other civic group in Gardner; school children from the private schools and the public schools in town, their faces shiny and serious, until they see people in the crowd they know, then, enorous grins and waving; a few terrified dogs on leashes; Ronald MacDonald, or his faux counterpart, atop the highest float; a giant, ill-constructed birthday cake; the Michelin Man; antique autos; mini-cars; too many frighening "clowns"; and every once in a while, someone tossing handfuls of salt water kisses and penny candies across the asphalt and into the crowd--skittering low--a ton of it, bouncing off my new hiking boots, in the gutter.
Instead of a mad scramble, with people ripping the goodies from each other's hands, neighbors pass candy to neighbors and everybody shares...it is amazing and chilling to me. (Had I really been away from this reality for so long?) When the crowd breaks into "God Bless America" and no one seems to smirk or shake their head ironically, it hits me: This IS the REAL DEAL.
An organic, community farm passes out produce: apples from their trees.
"Only for the kids, sorry," they announce as they walk along the crowds.
(However, far as I can see, only adults actually reach their hands out for the fruit...)
One float passes out frisbees, but only to people they know--which causes some grumbling--but they pass by quickly. A contingent of Vietnam Vet motorcycle riders get a huge ovation ..and then my High School Wildcat Band...much larger than when I played flute in the 70's...but with the same repetoire--more heart than talent(Ever hope-filled.) boldly passes. The crowd roars its approval. (Other area bands perform, but none get the same applause.)
"GLORY TO GARDNER!" the crowd joins in unison, the song lifting on the cool wind.
I have to admit, a lump that isn't salt-water taffy grows in my throat. I see forty- thousand people , twice the size of the town, cheer, applaud, thump each other on the back, come together and honestly be entertained. It is showered on by the continual fall of golden and raspberry leaves, mixing with the confetti from the DJ float. (Gardner has a DJ?!) Scents of woodsmoke, lake water, mowed grass and apples permeates the crowd. (It is my past meeting with my present, in innocence; and I'm not yet too jaded to respect that.)
As the last canon blasts and the final clean-up-at-the-end-of-the-parade makes it's way down Central Street, everyone begins to disburse. No angry shoving. No mad dash for a parking lot. Just, people stretching, smiling, moving in clots and couples, happily away.
"Well, it wasn't the Rose Parade," Mom says, taking my arm even as I carry her lawn chair,
"but it was quite an Event."
I had to agree.
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