The Parade

This morning I found myself in the midst of a Norman Rockwell painting.

      Steve had asked Ralph and me if we intended to come to the Memorial Day parade in Elm Grove, the small neighboring community where our son and his family have lived for over fifteen years. “You can get a draft beer and good ol’ Wisconsin brat in the street party afterward,” he added.

With those incentives, along with the arrival of the first gorgeous summer day of the season, we set out to see this event we had never bothered to attend before. First we hung our American flag off our balcony rail and dressed in the appropriate patriotic colors. As we drove through the newly leafed trees that canopied the roads of this suburban village, we passed groups of parents pushing strollers with energetic children skipping alongside. They looked the goslings trailing the Canadian geese around our pond. “I think the whole town is going to the parade,” I remarked. “Good thing we can park in the kid’s driveway.”

Once on foot, we joined the throngs headed for the main street of the Village. To our pleasure, our grandson caught up with us and told us where his folks were standing long the parade route. “I was determined to get home from college for Memorial Day,” he told us. “I didn’t want to miss the parade.” He stopped several times along the way to greet friends and neighbors. Seemed to us that each group of pretty young girls called out to him.

The sirens and clanging bells of the fire engines signaled the start of the parade. Ladder trucks and emergency vehicles from neighboring suburbs added to the cacophony. Children of all ages, parents, and grandparents lined both sides of the street, many waving flags and applauding as the Legion Posts passed and service men and women rode by in all manner of vehicles. The Village president, a local judge, and Representative Sensenbrenner joined in the hour-long parade. Our daughter-in-law cheered her high school band and our son and grandson cheered even louder when “their” school marched by. Kids scrambled to pick up the candy thrown by those riding in decorated floats and antique cars.

I stood taking it all in. Quintessential Americana: neighbors greeting neighbors, strangers smiling at each other, bright sunshine illuminating the scene. Wars seemed very far away as we marked this day to appreciate those who serve. The beer and brats were anticlimactic.