Last night, my younger two sons and I went to our city's annual Christmas parade. Pinellas Park was talking up this year's parade, since it was the fortieth year the event had marched down Park Boulevard.
In earlier years, the parade had been held in the morning, usually the second Saturday in December. Our family, in its various changes, would head out, sometimes picking up breakfast at McD's, sometimes picking up something to eat elsewhere. But within the past fifteen years or so, it was switched from mornings to evenings. Maybe it was so that anyone working during the day could make it to the parade, maybe it was so that the holiday lights could be seen along the route. No matter, though; it's still there.
M., J. and I caught a ride to Publix's parking lot with my friend Kevin so that we could cross Park Boulevard at the light at Forty-ninth Street. We usually stop by the Busy Bee Restaurant, a small mom-and-pop place that Paul and I used to frequent, where I'll grab a coffee to go, then head for the Subway restaurant a block away, where we pick up dinner and watch the parade.
This year, when we went into the Bee, we saw several familiar faces. Kelly had come back to work there. Her sister, Jackie, had worked there for years, and had been one of the familiar faces Paul and I looked forward to seeing. While Kelly hadn't worked there nearly as long as Jackie had, it had become a bit of a let-down not to see her after she'd left. We kidded about how the last time she'd worked there, people kept forgetting her name, simply referring to her as Jackie's sister.
We also saw Roxanne, a regular customer at the Bee who'd managed to become a part-time cashier/hostess/coffee-server and confidante of anyone coming into the restaurant. She was having dinner with her granddaughter, and, while we didn't get much of a chance to talk, it was good seeing her, too.
After paying for my coffee, we headed to our usual parade-watching place. While we didn't stay for the whole parade - something we haven't managed to do for several years, now - we did get a laugh at one point: One of the local high school marching bands went by playing Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer; this was done while trying to maintain formation while a rogue golf cart drove through their ranks the wrong way. Grandma may've gotten run over by a reindeer, but that's nothing like getting run over or under by a rogue wrong-way golf cart.
But as we watched the parade, or at least the first hour or so of it, we did talk about Christmas parade memories. There was the garbage-can-marching-band that marched in the parade three or four years in a row. It had been put together by the company in charge of the city's garbage pick up, used shiny new metal garbage cans as drums and metal lids as cymbals, and was led my a high-stepping, high-energy leader intent on strutting his stuff. I might be mistaken, but I doubt you'll see that in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade!
Another memory: The first Christmas that Paul were together - a month after the Thanksgiving where we both stood each other up (Thanksgiving stories and meals; Wednesday, November 21, 2012) - I'd mentioned that I'd be getting a late start driving that day, since I was taking the kids to the Christmas parade.
What time does it start? Paul wanted to know, as well as where we'd planned to watch the parade. He met us there, with an extra coffee for me, and a couple of donuts from the nearby donut shop. We sat in his cab while the kids walked back and forth, meeting Paul for the first time, showing us strands of beads they'd caught from passing floats and marching groups.
The last Christmas Paul was alive, the parade had moved to its present evening hours. Paul wasn't quite up to going, or maybe he simply liked the thought of having a couple of quiet hours during the boisterous holiday season. Whatever. But he knew we'd be at Subway and asked us to bring him back a salad for dinner.
Of course, there are other Christmas memories that have nothing to do with parades.
The last year I drove for the cab company, I'd transferred to being an employee driver for a variety of reasons. At one point, I drove a van to pick up children for a local preschool for disadvantaged kids; the cab company supplied the van and driver for the school.
The drivers - three or four of us, each with a 12-passanger (or larger) van - would leave the yard around 6 a.m., go to the school, where we would pick up an escort; these were usually full-time teachers at the preschool, and their job on the van was to go to each door and get the child or children, strap them into their car seats, and maintain some semblance of control, while the drivers simply drove. We would deposit kids and teacher/escorts to the school in the morning, then pick them back up in the afternoon, drop the kids off again, then redeposit the escorts back to the school so that they could grab their cars and head home.
Right after Thanksgiving, I noticed Christmas decorations cropping up along the route. Several stand out: on the drive to pick up Jim, the escort assigned to my route, in the early morning, I noticed a huge Christmas star. I had driven along Bay Drive in Largo (East Bay becomes West Bay at one point; I got a little of both) until reaching Clearwater-Largo Road, where I'd turn north. One one point, the road drifts to the left a little as it gently dips, and there was a large stand of trees that drivers would see before following the left-and-dip. It was here that the star was visible, a large metal-and-white-Christmas-lights deal atop a pole. Something about seeing the lit star seemed to make the early-morning-start worth it.
There was another Christmas display that we'd have to pass with the van loaded with kids. It was in Clearwater, put up by a group-that-shall-remain-nameless (anyone familiar with Clearwater and South Fort Harrison Avenue may understand why), and involved a large red velvet Santa's chair. I'd mentioned to Jim-the-escort that someone I knew used to pick up furniture put out by the side of the road on garbage day; it was something my kids and I referred to as Early American Curbside. After that, the kids would point to the large Santa's chair and start asking when we'd be able to pick it up and bring it to the school. After all, what could be cooler than taking turns sitting in Santa's chair on a regular basis, right?
On the ride into school, it was still dark enough to see Christmas lights, and we passed many houses where the owners kept the lights on all night. Of course, by the time we'd head back home with the kids, there'd be more lights on. The kids had a game where whoever saw a decorated home or business first would point and yell, "That's my Christmas!", at which point, no one else could claim that Christmas.
One morning, one little girl, Chelsea, lost out on half-a-dozen or so decorations, and this was with only three kids in the van so far! By the time we pulled up to the forth pick-up, she was in tears; she was never, ever going to be able to lay claim to Christmas lights again! As Jim got out of the van, I spotted a lit tree twinkling from the living room of the next house; I also knew Chelsea couldn't see it from where she sat.
"Chelsea, if you take your seat belt off and come here, I'll show you something."
She shook her head; the rule was that once Jim strapped a child into his or her car seat, that child was to stay strapped in until Jim took that child out. Chelsea might've wanted "her Christmas," but she was no fool: she didn't want to get into trouble for undoing her seatbelt.
"Hey, Jim," I called as he approached the front door where he had to pick up a couple of little boys, "Can I let Chelsea out of her car seat for a minute?"
He turned and called back that it was okay. So, carefully, she hopped out of the car seat and came to stand next to where I was sitting. I pointed to the lit Christmas tree and asked, "Do you see that?"
She looked and, after a second or two, her face lit up and she squealed with delight, "That's my Christmas!"
The rest of the ride went better, with Chelsea telling everyone, "I saw my Christmas!"
There are more memories - my kids, grandkids, in-laws, grandparents, Paul, extended family and friends - but, regardless of your faith or religion, whether you celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, the Solstice, Kwanzaa, Yule, or any other holiday this season, that pretty much sums it up: it is a season of dark, but also a season of hope, joy, memories...
Enjoy the season, y'all!
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