Childhood recollections of an Easter Parade

Marchin' in the Parade, circa 1992

By: VERONICA BLAKE

“Do you want me to grab your baton out of the crawl space?”

It’s my dirty little secret. I twirled in the Easter Parade. And don’t be fooled by my dimpled-grin. Because I hated it.

What seven-year-old wants to walk for an hour, throwing a stick up into the air, dodging streetcar tracks and horse-droppings? But worst of all? We weren’t allowed to pee!

My parents hated the parade even more than I did. Easter morning, we’d wake up early, and hunt for our Easter eggs. Next it was off to church, followed by the parade and then dinner at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. It hardly felt like a holiday.

“Any Joe-Shmoe with a wagon can join this 2-bit parade!” my Dad would lament.

“All you need is a ribbon in your har!” my Mom would chime in.

Apparantly, my parents were parade-snobs.

It was weird to be back. My press-pass still got me the behind-the-scenes access, but it was my first experience as a spectator.

There may have been a few Joe-Shmoes with wagons, but The Easter Parade showcased the quirks of the community. The weather was glorious and the crowd was all-smiles when the adorable New Beaver Shrine Club came grooving down the route. They even got the kiddies dancing!

There were cheerleaders. There were bands and bagpipes. There were even roller-skaters. But there were no baton twirlers.

I wish I had taken my dad up on his offer. I should’ve dug my baton out of the crawl space and joined the parade.

Veronica and her mother, circa 1992