Life's a Parade

This morning Bob and I continued a family tradition by taking the kids to the Karns Christmas Parade. Karns (a suburb of sorts of Knoxville) hosts two parades a year, and so far they've brought a smile to my face every time. I wrote this a few years ago about the parade and thought you might enjoy it:

My favorite tradition to commemorate Americana at its finest is small town parades. I like everything about parades: the fanfare, the free stuff, the celebration of what people hold dear. Parades are like a microcosm of a community set to bright lights and cheers. Quite simply, parades represent who we are.

As a life-long fan of these celebrations, I was delighted to join in the Karns parade last July. Several friends and I represented MOMS Club, a non-profit support group for stay-at-home and part-time working mothers. Minimal costs and preparation appealed to our group. “There are no fees or sign-ups to be in the parade. Just show up by 8:30am in the Ingles parking lot,” informed Roger Kane, parade organizer and the president of the Karns Business Association. “We never know if we’re going to have one or a thousand floats. As long as it moves, you can have it in the parade,” added Kane.

On the day of the big event, a drizzle threatened to turn into a downpour at any moment, but spirits weren’t dampened. The parking lot was a-buzz as groups rallied for position. There was a fleet of purple tow trucks from Clinton, the Karns High School football team flexing some muscle, and a few riding horseback without a pooper scooper. No one wanted behind them. There were a few politicians and business owners, but most groups were here for the sheer fun of it. My son particularly liked the fleet of John Deere tractors. Roger Kane said they were not an organized group—just guys who like to ride tractors. Fantastic! Every fire truck from here to Oak Ridge was ready to blast lights and sirens. Little league teams gathered in uniform and a baton twirler practiced with flair. Even Barney Fyfe and his Mayberry look-a-like crew were in their small-town element.

Within five minutes, we’d reached the library and our first small but enthusiastic crowd. Familiar faces cheered us on. Kids clamored for candy. Neighbors came out of their homes to stand next to neighbors they likely didn’t know. It occurred to me parades have a way of breaking down barriers between strangers. Smiles were contagious.

Even my three-year-old who was crying minutes before was starting to have a ball. He and his friend chatted about the construction vehicles not far behind us. “There’s a bulldozer!” Cole shouted. Bobby piped up, “Actually, it’s a bobcat.” Dads laughed. And then six-year-old Ella, looking back at a sea of lights from the fire and tow trucks, exclaimed in a sweet genuine voice, “It’s so beautiful!”

Aren’t parades great? Kids get loads of candy and fun doo-dads, organizations and companies get free exposure, young people get to feel important for a few minutes, adults get to remember what it feels like to be a kid, and our heroes like volunteer firemen get to show off a bit. For just a few minutes, this time-honored tradition allows a town to come together and celebrate what makes this place home.

The next parade will likely be the last Saturday of July. Check back here for details.

All Star

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He’s the last batter of the final inning in the last game of the Karns little league T-ball season. The bases are loaded, and my 6-year-old son Bobby steps up to the plate. This is his moment—his chance to be the hero.

Bobby eyes the ball, winds up, and does a complete 360--clearly missing the ball. He regains his concentration, fixes his stance, and whacks the T--again missing the ball. Undeterred he gets back in position, takes a deep breath, and…smacks the ball past the pitcher, past the second baseman, and into the outfield where not a single player is ready to retrieve it. Bobby sprints to first, doesn’t stop at second, rounds third at full speed, and slides triumphantly into home on his belly. He hardly notices that the other team is in the dugout by now. The only cheers are the ones from his parents, but his smile proves that’s enough.

This was Bobby’s first year for organized sports: soccer in the spring, baseball in the fall. We were surprised that he was already “behind” many of the other players who began as young as four. We wanted him to start in the non-competitive league where there are no outs, every player rounds the bases, and everyone gets a trophy. Bobby didn’t seem to mind that he was literally head and shoulders above some of his teammates. Skillfully he blended right in. I was thrilled to see that Bobby was given the #7 jersey (my number from softball). Bob got nostalgic as well, pulling out his first baseball hat from second grade.

Not wanting to be over-scheduling parents, we’re choosy about our children’s extra activities. But we didn’t hesitate to sign him up for little league baseball. Sports teach so many valuable skills: coordination, teamwork, taking turns, paying attention, and one day, learning how to be a gracious loser. And there’s something magical about this All American sport; it’s practically a childhood rite of passage.

There were times when I dreaded the mad dash of getting the boys fed, the baby nursed, the dog her dinner, and Bobby dressed in time to be on the field by 5:45pm. More often than not Devin’s face was smeared with dinner remnants and Brooke needed a diaper change just as the game started. It was a good day if I remembered toys and extra layers for the younger two. The crowd consisted of four dozen faithful family members who generally remained quiet. But we all secretly beamed with pride when our little one stood poised at home plate.

Today all the extra chaos sports add to a family’s life melts away because it’s the All Star game. The four teams of the league combine to battle it out as representatives of the American and National Leagues. It’s a beautiful, crisp sunny day when these pint size peanuts have the privilege of ascending the hill to the big ball field. Their faces are giddy with anticipation.

Adding authenticity to the spectacle is the announcer who calls their names over the loud speaker. One by one, each player tips his hat and bows. When it’s Bobby’s turn, he bows with the flair of an Elizabethan prince. He knows this is a big deal since I’m shooting video with my professional camera. This is an occasion to be recorded for posterity.

The game only has two innings—perfect for their short attention spans. The players show off their improved skills. A few times they even come close to making a real out. Bobby proves he’s no baseball prodigy and I doubt scouts, scholarships, or the major league are in his future. And no, he couldn’t really claim to be the hero in today’s game, but that wasn’t the point. Today was about making every kid feel like a hero—to let the youngest players of the game taste glory. Thank you to everyone who helped our happy, normal, well-adjusted son feel like an All Star. This is the good stuff of life.