We Love a Parade I can’t wait for Jamboree Days, even if there are no fireworks—I can live without them. In fact, if I catch anybody firing off even so much as a sparkler, I’m going to pin his chest to the asphalt with every bit of my 200 pounds and pull out my cell phone and dial the sheriff’s office. So much for fireworks—it’s the parade I like. I grew up in Lakeside down in San Diego County. Back then the town was just a little bigger than Crestline. We had a parade much like the one we have here—muscle cars, people on foot, company trucks and the Rotary minis. Now Lakeside has 60,000 people and that kind of parade is history. As a young adult, I lived in rural Catholic communities in Germany for seven years, and I always looked forward to Rosenmontag (Rose Monday), which is the last big party before Lent. If you don’t have anything to repent for Lent by then, the 24-hour celebration of Rosenmontag will give you several things to choose from when you get into the confession booth. That’s the idea, I guess. The centerpiece of this celebration is a parade, complete with wagons, tractors, pigs, cows and people dressed up in everything from monkey suits to Viking outfits. I lived in a house that was 430 years old there (I still have scars on my forehead from whacking into the short doorways to prove it), and this traditional parade was older than that house. After I got out of the Army, I would spend my July 4ths at my now-deceased parents’ house in the little town of Lake Morena (population 2,000) near the Mexican border. They had a parade like ours, but it included things like tractors and skiploaders. My favorite “float” was the local septic service guy’s tank truck. I don’t remember his company name, but I’ll always remember his motto, proudly emblazoned on the side of the tank: “Your poop is our bread and butter.” People from places like New York City and Pasadena might not be too impressed with our little parade, but that’s because they just don’t get it. This isn’t Pasadena. Nobody is going to camp out all night at the Ace Hardware to get a good view the next day. But they will show up early to secure the best, clear place to nail the parade participants with their Super Soakers. People from down the hill find out quickly that if you’re going to walk up and down the parade route before the parade, you’d better expect to get wet. And you had better bring your earplugs. Between the classic GTOs, the horns and the sirens, your ears are going to be ringing. One thing I like about living in Crestline during the parade is that I don’t have to hassle with parking—I just walk down with a folding chair and a cool drink. I think the parade is great—you can have the Macy’s and Rose parades. Everybody here knows everybody, and they come out more to see their friends than anything else. There is more heart and enthusiasm in the old small town parade, and I hope we never lose it. Note: If you miss the fireworks and do want to see a great fireworks show, do what a lot of hardy people do on July 4. Climb to the top of Mt. San Gorgonio at 11,500 feet. At 9 p.m. you’ll be able to witness at least 10 different fireworks shows all at the same time. People who have done it say the fireworks look even better from above. |
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