The Parade

Two young girls, maybe 8 or 9 years old, practice cheerleading kicks. They are standing near the middle of the intersection of 2nd Street and Santa Ana Avenue. The median that separates the east- from west-bound traffic of 2nd Street is about three feet wide and filled with all ages of people in various lawn and folding chairs, they are bundled up against the cold night. Both sides of the street are lined as well with families and couples. Antsy children at the edge of the curb are a blur of continuous movement looking wide eyed at everything. The Belmont Shore Christmas Parade is passing by them all; marching bands from area high schools, middle schools, private schools and with them drill teams with girls and even a few boys of various sizes; city officials in cars and on antique fire trucks; floats from civic organizations; groups walking animal rescue dogs (25 great danes and what seems like a hundred and one corgies, among others); humvees and service people in fatigues looking tired to me; Miss Long Beach, Mrs. Long Beach and various other married and unmarried personages representing local, regional and metropolitan areas, all dressed impressively with the appropriate shoulder to waist sashes wave gently, regally; the Special Weapons and Tactical Unit seems a little out of place to me, heavy armored truck with gun ports and officers with Santa hats waving to the crowds they might otherwise be coercing; and flatbed trucks carrying any assortment of carolers representing various business concerns.

Here in the crowd, it pleases me to see the mix of people, races and ages, sitting together. Everyone seems happy and relaxed, talking, pointing, clapping. There are quick animated greetings between parade watchers and people in the parade who know one another. The City Council members seem to opt for walking along in front of the car that is supposed to be carrying them. Some are just holding hands with their spouses and waving, others are shaking hands and saying "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays." Policemen on foot ask the kids to stay near the curb, "Step back, please!" They admonish some noisy adults "If there's liquor in those cups you have to pour it out!" Hours later, Santa arrives. He is in his sleigh, pulled by plastic, lifeless reindeer wrapped in white Christmas lights on top of the city's hook and ladder fire engine. LBFD is imprinted on the back of his sleigh, Santa is, evidently a firefighter as well.

After the parade, throngs of people pour into the street, heading towards their cars or homes nearby. Others stand around talking with neighbors and friends. Others move towards restaurants, coffee places or bars. A line forms outside of Shannon's Pub and a party, loud music pouring into the street, is already going on inside the hair salon where, occasionally, revelers erupt onto the sidewalk singing, dancing and making merry. Motorcycle cops seem to be continually making rounds of the parade route. There seems to be about one per minute. They stop at the intersection and then move on to the next and onto the next. The crowd in the street slowly disperses, revealing an untidy mess of plastic cups, confetti, pizza boxes and more. Within minutes, it seems, young men and women in orange vests are busy raking trash from the sidewalks into the streets. Following them are men with leaf blowers getting everything the rakers missed. And just minutes after them another parade, this time city streetsweepers doing what looks to me like a choreographed ballet, sucking up the detritus that has been deposited on the street. After half an hour, there's hardly anyone left in the street and it looks as though the parade never happened, save for the busy sidewalks.

The last tidbit, two boys, teens, one on a skateboard, the other, seated on a rolling office chair pushing fearlessly with his legs on the now empty street, go by at breakneck speed laughing.

Parades are spectacles, a time we gather to admire something special about life. In this case, Christmas, and with it, all the good of "the most wonderful time of year." In the few hours of a parade, we have a chance to see the good of us.