And Sousa Was There, Too

It's amazing-- how you can live in a small town your whole life and never notice certain things about it until later on in your life.

Like, for instance: I never knew we had a 4th of July parade in my town-- until today, when my wife and I sat out on our porch like octogenarians and watched it go by. Apparently, they've been doing it every single year since Christ was six.

Who knew?

My family was never very patriotic, so I guess that's part of the reason we never sought out the 4th of July parade. My father's Israeli, and my mother is apathetic and afraid of large gatherings, so that kind of counts us out of the whole parade thing by and large.

My parents were never one to teach us about the presidents or quiz us on the functions of the various branches of government. Unlike homeschool wackjob parents who lock their kids in the basement and make them play the harp for ten hours a day, my parents trusted the public school system to fill our heads with all that bullshit. They never cared for the 4th of July or Veterans Day. In fact, the week after September 11th, I drove home from college and was very surprised to find an American flag hanging outside out house. My mother met me on the front lawn.

"I told Daddy he'd better put that goddamn thing up before you came home," she said to me after our hug.

So I didn't know from flag-waving or parades, but I knew about Santa and the fire-truck, though, even as a little kid. On Christmas Day, some fat bastard fire fighter dressed as Santa Claus and hung off the back of the ladder truck throwing things at children-- I presume they were candy canes or mayonnaise some other shit that goyim children eat.

I guess I always knew about Santa Day because they blared the fucking fire engine's siren and vintage airhorn, so you couldn't really ignore that, even if you wanted to. And I'm sure the vastly Jewish majority of residents in my neighborhood wanted to.

The 4th of July parade that my wife and I watched from the comfort of our porch was, um, kind of lame. I mean, it was the first parade I had ever seen in my life, so I suppose, if I was judging it against anything, I was judging it against the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, which I admit to have seen snippets of on television and referenced in films and soda commercials. The parade was spearheaded by an emergency services pick-up from our local volunteer fire station. I have affectionately dubbed this vehicle The Sousatruck, as it was blaring marches for all to hear through its public address system. Very tasteful. Then there were a couple of awkward looking girl scouts. I always wondered what the fuck girl scouts did besides sell cookies, and now I have my answer. They look awkward and carry flags at the 4th of July parade. Thanks, ladies.

The girl scouts were followed by ordinary townsfolk, wearing red, white & gay t-shirts and shorts and fucked up hats. One of them said, "We Recycle" and it had a bunch of shit taped to it, like a soda can and other pieces of whateverthefuck. I didn't get it. I thought it was Independence Day, not Crazy Hat Day. But whatever.

Then there was a red Chrysler 300 and a woman my mom works with at the library was waving from the passenger window like Queen Elizabeth. She recognized me and smiled, but continued waving regally. And I wanted to go back inside.

But, I couldn't stop looking at Crazy Hat Day.

And Crazy Dress Your Dachshund Up Day.

And Crazy Hot-Glue Random Streamers and Sparkles and Shit to Your Bicycle Day.

It was quite a sight, let me tell you. The fat fire fighters were there, hanging off the back of the ladder trucks. They weren't throwing mayonnaise, though. They were taking pictures of the dozens of children with their crazy-ass bicycles.

Yeah, look out, Facebook. Here we come.