In 1976, I was George Washington in the bicentennial parade. I wore a powdered wig, knickers, knee-high stockings, patent leather shoes, a cheesy vest, and a puffy shirt. I was a miserable little bastard on that float.
Good thing I was six or I would've probably gotten my ass kicked for wearing such an outfit.
***
I marched in several parades when I was in middle school. But when I reached eighth grade, I discovered that the chances of a marching band member getting laid before college were slim (and a trombonist's chances were even slimmer), so I quit marching band when I entered high school and started playing in garage bands. As a result, I have no "And one time at band camp" stories.
***
In high school, I was a hot commodity every parade season. I drove the only convertible at my high school (hard to believe, but true), so I was constantly hounded by Homecoming Queens to drive them around in parades.
Not a bad gig.
So to all the young lads out there reading this, get yourself a paper route and start saving up for a convertible. You'll thank your Uncle Chag for this piece of information.
***
On Saturday morning, I took Zed to his first parade. He had a blast! He loved the marching bands, the floats, and the candy projectiles that went whizzing by our heads every few moments.
But his favorite moment was when he spotted Zoey. She was marching with her fellow Daisy Scouts, beaming with pride. Zed waved to her and she threw him a piece of candy.
At least that's how it played out in my mind. Zoey was running a fever on Saturday morning so she didn't get to go to the parade. She spent most of the weekend moping and pouting. I felt so bad for her.
But not bad enough to keep Zed from enjoying his first parade.
Song of the day: Christmas Wrapping by The Waitresses
I Love A Parade
